The Erlking
by Aisling-Siobhan
Summary: LVHP When Harry was a child no one warned him about the things that lurked within forests When Harry escapes from one, it follows him home. Harry’s trapped in the land of the Erlking and Voldemort is the first to lay eyes on Faun, the King's new beloved
1. Prologue

If the banner doesn't show up… see profile…

New fic… I know, I'm bad, slap me… but I think you'll like this one…

"The Erlking"

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter, et all are property of JK Rowling, and Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros and all those other nifty people that make it so we can read and watch the Potterverse whenever we feel like it.

**Disclaimer 2: **Some of the Erlking stuff is borrowed from "Nocturnes", page 93-101 by John Connolly and some from "Child of the Hunt", a Buffy novel by Christopher Golden and Nancy Holder. The Myth itself is mostly based around the poem: http:// www . cs. rice. edu / ssiyer / minstrels / poems / 920 . html. The picture in the banner was a painting based on the poem "The Erl-King" by Goethe; cannot remember the name of the artist.

**Summary: **[LV/HP) When Harry was a child no one had bothered to warn him about the things that lurked within forests and woods waiting for unsuspecting children to wander into their paths. But when Harry escapes from one, it follows him home. Harry's trapped in the land of the Huntsmen and Voldemort's spirit is the first to lay eyes on the newly crowned Faun – the Erlking's pet and 'beloved'.

**Warnings: **Slash. LV/HP: Other/HP. AU. Character Death. Violence. Language. Torture.

**Rating: **R/NC-17 SLASH!!

**A/N: **Yeah, so… am I the first to do a fiction about Harry being kidnapped by the Erlking, or is there one like this out there that I haven't found yet? Some of the mythical stuff I found on websites, etc. I'll link to important things.

_XXX_

**Words: **1,268

**Chapter 1**

**Prologue**

It's common knowledge that parents tell their children stories, old stories, to protect them, or scare them, or even to comfort them. In some families there are tales of the Sandman who tears out the eyes of small boys who refuse to sleep at night; tales of Baba Yaga, the demon witch who rides a chariot of bones and rests her hands upon the skulls of children; tales of Scylla the sea monster, who drags men into the depths in an attempt to appease an insatiable hunger. And then, in some families there are tales of the Hunt and the Huntsmen. Creatures who cause fears in the blackest of hearts, who send brave Centaurs running for cover their tales between their legs, and tales of their leader, the Erlking, the King of the Alders – sometimes mistaken for the Devil himself.

And in families like the Dursley's there are other tales. Tales you wouldn't believe even if you saw or hear them told yourself.

"Mummy! Mummy!" A young, but fairly rounded boy screamed from the floor of a living room. He looked to be about 6 years old. "Mummy, is the freak dying?" Petunia Dursley looked up from the couch and sighed. For the last ten minutes she had been leaning over a thin, young child with a strange scar on his forehead. Occasionally she dabbed his forehead with a wet clothe before tutting angrily. It wasn't that she particularly cared for the boy, but rather, if he died in her home she or her husband might get into trouble with His kind.

For, Harry Potter, the boy on the couch, was a Wizard. Tales of Wizards were sometimes regarded as the most magical kind; of Merlin and Grindelward, of Voldemort and even Harry himself. But little Harry had no idea, all he knew was that it hurt very, very badly right then.

And Aunt Petunia should have taken him to a doctor.

"Will he die mummy?" The boy asked again. He was fair haired, and red faced, with his fists clenched and beady little blue eyes.

"No. The freak will probably live, and we'll never be rid of him." She huffed at her son. Harry Potter wasn't important to her. He was only the child of her dead sister, and it really was Lily's own fault for getting herself blown up or whatever happened when she died.

"What happened to him?" Petunia looked at Dudley, his eyes wide as he peered over the side of the couch to poke his ill cousin. "Will I get sick too? Can I miss school?"

"Dudley," she sighed, wiping her own forehead with her arm before dabbing at Harry's with the cloth. She couldn't tell him the truth, because she didn't want to scare him, so, instead she told him a tale. One of the worst tales to ever cross someone's lips: as unbelievable as it was cruel. "He was a very bad boy, a dirty horrid little freak, and now God is punishing him. You won't get sick because you're such a good boy. Now be a good Duddikins and go get me more water, ok?"

"Do I have to?" Petunia's glare silenced him, but he still didn't move. In the end, Petunia had to get her own water.

When Vernon arrived home that day, he decided enough was enough. The boy had been milking his sickness long enough, but Vernon Dursley wasn't going to stand for it anymore. Despite a voice in the back of his mind, similar to the wind echoing through the trees, asking him if he would behave the same way if Dudley were sick, he bundled Harry up in a warm coat.

Vernon threw Harry over his shoulder roughly, and the young boy groaned in pain. Harry was laid out in the back of the car, while Vernon drove to the nearest forest. If anyone asked, he would tell him or her that he woke up and the boy was gone. He might even write a fake note, telling his relatives that he'd run away. When they arrived at the edge of the forest Vernon dragged Harry out of the car by his ankles. Harry was left on the forest trail, right beside two large oak trees.

Vernon made sure he was on the trail.

He remembered stories he had been told as a child. When he was younger he had been awed by the stories of the Erlking and the Hunt, absolutely terrified at the thought of being taken if he stepped of the footpath at night, and now – now he was too old to believe in such poppycock.

With a sneer, he kicked Harry over, until the boy rolled right off the path and was lying in a patch of grass at the base of one oak tree. The temperature suddenly dropped, and Vernon headed back to his car, his hand trembling where he'd shoved them into his coat pocket out of sight.

Harry lay where he was, unconscious, slowly being set upon by a grey mist, which seemed to rise off the forest floor out of nowhere, and was slowly crawling straight towards Harry.

When the mist settled directly beside Harry, it began to flutter lightly, similar to a cloak dancing gently across the ground as its wearer stood still and silent. The mist shifted, as an invisible person took a step closer to Harry. A bony hand reached down to brush the boy's fringe aside. The fingers were bone white, and narrow, the nails pointed and black. Around each finger twined spider webs and briars, interlocked with one another but neither drawing blood nor causing discomfort to the thing that stared down at the sickly child.

His robes suddenly swam forward as if they had a mind of its own, and the mist swept backwards, away from the cloak of human skin and towards the child as if trying to protect him. At the collar of the cloak, in place of ermine or fur was the scalps of unfortunate creatures, humans and goblins, centaurs and elves alike; the colours of their hair, red, brown, yellow, all mingling together so they looked – from afar – like autumn leaves. The hood of his cloak was up, shrouding his face in darkness so all that could be seen was the white of his pointed teeth as he smiled.

A crown of fingers sat upon his head, over the hood, the fingers curved inwards as if beckoning others to join. Strands of gold wound around the bones, the finger nails had all been ripped from the fingers that still had skin clinging to the bone.

The Erlking bent at the waist and breathed lightly on Harry's cheek as he brushed back the fringe again. He knew the boy was special, the marking on his forehead proved as much, so he could not kill the child, nor let the sick boy succumb to death.

But that didn't mean the Erlking couldn't keep the boy either.

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! Oh come thou with me!"1 He murmured, running his cold fingers over the child's cheek. Harry shuddered at the touch, before bolting upright a silent scream lost in the mist that suddenly rose and swallowed him whole.

Eyes blinded by tears, Harry stood, and as quickly as he could he turned in a circle searching for the one whose icy touch had woken him. When he saw no one, he sniffed and, while stumbling and falling, tried to make his way back to Number 4, privet Drive.

The Erlking let him go.

Sometimes, the chase was the best part.

**XXX**

1. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - http:// www . cs . rice . edu / ssiyer /minstrels /poems /920 . html

TBC

**Words: **

**Chapter 2**

**The Embrace**

Coming Soon As…

I know I shouldn't have started a new one, but I couldn't help it… it was bouncing around my brain giving me migraines! That's what happens when you fire your muse.

Anyway, fortunately for you, I have the next chapter planned so you won't have to wait as long for it as you did with **Black Complication**… Which I will update. I have Tuesday and Thursday only off next week… and with Tuesday being Christmas…

I doubt any of you want to read my crap when you have family things to do – but I don't like family things, so for those of you as anti-social as me, I may well update Tuesday!

Now review… should I even bother to update this?


	2. The Embrace

Wah-hay, new chapter… mainly cause I had a strange shift at work today and was finished at half-7. And now I have to babysit… damn!

**Words: **2,118

**Chapter 2**

**The Embrace**

Harry didn't understand from what it was exactly that he ran, but he knew it couldn't be anything good. He did not live with one of those families that enlightened children with tales of witches, and demons, nor myths for that matter. The Dursley's disliked even the mention of magic, and their son Dudley was forbidden from watching any of that Disney fairy-tale, magic, bullshit – Harry was forbidden from watching TV full stop. But nonetheless, Harry knew something bad had been with him in that forest. Something that wasn't quite… normal – not quite natural.

Not exactly something special either.

'Special' implied a goodness about it that made it better than other good things. Harry didn't believe there was anything remotely good about the choking mist that had tried to drown him in the forest; rising, and rising and rising, until it reached higher than the child and he couldn't even see his hands when he held them right in front of his glasses.

And with that decision in mind, Harry ran.

He ran the whole way back to Privet Drive, his magic the only thing that stopped his weakened body from collapsing in shudders and sweat. His heart hammered, not only from fear but exhaustion. He was in no condition to be pushing himself thus.

And yet the Erlking allowed the boy to over exert. The chase was known to be the favourite part of the Hunt for most of the Huntsmen. And the Erlking was similar to his followers in preference: he enjoyed the chase, the excitement that coursed through what humans would call his veins, the way his non-existent heart thrummed with anticipation as his Hell Hounds leapt upon their quarry, trapping them or savaging them depending on the Erlking's mood. He relished the screams of many.

But not the screams of the boy in front of him. He trailed behind Harry, seemingly gliding above the floor, the hem of his human skin cloak barely brushing off of the pavement. He was silent, and the mist still followed behind him like an obedient pet.

Harry was screaming now. From fear, or rage or frustration, but probably a mix of the three. Soon, the Erlking thought, it may very well be a scream of a more pleasant emotion.

Harry banged at the door, and the windows and even the walls of Number 4, but no lights came on and no one came to answer the door. With a sob, Harry slumped to the floor on the doorstep, his knees clutched to his chest as he heaved, desperately trying to calm his breathing. He glanced up quickly and almost screamed again. The mist was moving towards him, swarming almost like a river of transparent grey rats, clamouring over one another each desperate to be the first to reach the child. Harry shot to his feet, and ran around the side of the house. He pushed open the little gate that granted a shortcut to the back garden. He didn't bother to knock on the back door; instead he went straight to the shed, and tried to lock himself inside.

He sat, his back against the door of the shed, the key – once he turned it in the lock – had been taken out and was held in his hand so tight the Erlking could smell the blood rising to the surface of the boy's palm. His small body trembled, with fear and sickness.

He wouldn't last much longer.

The mist pressed up against the door and the windows, and began trying to seep in around the frames. Harry sniffled and tried to rub his eyes with the back of his arm. The mist formed a hand, and grabbed onto Harry's sleeve. Instead of his arm, two bony fingers entwined with briars and spider webs curved on the boys cheek, brushing away the pearl-like tears.

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! Oh come thou with me! Full many a game I will play there with thee,"**1** the Erlking whispered, his voice husky and seductive as he watched the child's small fingers grip the two of his.

Harry let go of the fingers. "Come where? I'm not supposed to go with strangers."

"Oh, child, thou fairest child. I am no stranger. I know you." His fingers stroked Harry's cheek again, before moving to brush the fringe from his forehead. "Beautiful boy, delicate boy. Come, boy, embrace me."**2 **

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. He moved his head back an inch, not enough to stop the Erlking from touching him but enough to show he was uncomfortable and suspicious. "How do you know me? Do I know you?"

The white beneath the Erlking's hood flashed brighter as the creature smiled, although you couldn't see the smile. "I am the Erlking. I have always been, and I will always be. I am the Erlking, and I take what I desire. Would you deny me my desire? Come with me, and I will call you 'beloved' until the day you die."**2**

Harry's mouth opened but no words came out.

"_My father, my father, and dost thou not hear_

_The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?"_

"**Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;**

**'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves." **

Harry could briefly remember reading something about a Earl and a King in history but he wasn't sure if that was the same as an Earl-King. As if sensing his thoughts, the Erlking laughed. It was a deep, rumbling laugh, and it echoed as it rumbled around the creatures chest before leaving his mouth. "I am not an Earl, my beloved. I am the Erlking, the King of the Alders, I ride in front of the Hunt, and steal the souls of dying children."

"You want me?" The Erlking's crown dipped forward as he nodded. When he stood straight again, the crown jumped of its own accord so that it lay, once again, in the centre of the creature's head. "Does that mean I'm dying?"

"Yesssss," he drew out the word, hissing between his teeth as he reluctantly admitted the truth of the situation. "But I can make you strong. You can be mine until you die, my beloved. Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?**1** Strong I will make you, so no more will you fear death from illness or disease. Come thou fairest boy. Come there with me." His entire hand was now resting on the crown of Harry's head; the tips of his skeletal fingers were rubbing his forehead and his temples.

Harry carefully climbed to his feet. His hands were pressed to the door to steady himself as he wobbled slightly. The Erlking reached out to help him, "I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!"**1** The Erlking whispered into Harry's ear, the hood of his cloak brushing against his cheek lightly. The King's breath was light, and warm, like the mist that still swirled around on the floor, hiding Harry's feet from view.

"Let me hold you dear boy." The Erlking breathed, his face now against Harry's neck so he was almost bent in half. Harry nodded his head jerkily, and drew in a startled breath as the Erlking – instead of closing his arms around the child – swung the boy up into his arms and walked from the shed, Harry pressed to his chest. Harry lay his head to the Erlking's shoulder and smiled as he smelt the scent of leaves and water, and mist, that was embedded within the Erlking himself.

"Where are we going?"

"On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,"**1** he promised softly, not answering Harry's question. "My daughters by night their glad festival keep,

They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."**1**

Harry frowned and did the unthinkable: he thumped the Erlking on the shoulder. "Why wont you tell me where we're going?"

The Erlking let out another bellowing laugh as three large men appeared out of the mist. None of them were as tall or imposing as the Erlking himself, but they were large and Harry shrunk back from them nonetheless. "May I not surprise my beloved? A surprise; a gift for letting me embrace thee."

The three men each wore a cloak of animal skin, and a pair of trousers that were made of doeskin or leather. They all had furry boots on, but no clothing on their upper bodies. One's clock was made from centaur skin, with their bony tails dangling from the hem like tassels. Another's was made from the scales of a mermaid's lower body. And the last had made his cloak from what he could salvage of a Thestrals pelt.

"I don't like surprises," Harry whispered. "Every surprise I ever got was bad." He mumbled against the Erlking's shoulder. While the three Huntsmen did not react to his words, the Erlking frowned beneath his hood and released a small sigh.

"Very well beloved. We are going home." Home was, in fact, named the Eternal Lodge, but in some legends that had been changed to Misty Lodge because the mist that followed Harry that night was always present in the Erlking's homeland. There were children everywhere, all dead of course, their spirits having been taken by the Hunt as they rode through various towns and villages where the children had dared be awake and attempt to look upon the face of the Erlking. The Huntsmen rode deceased stallions, which the Wizards had named Thestrals. At the heels of the horses ran ghost Hounds; the animals were dead so rather than run they floated, spiriting towards their prey inches above the ground. But incorporeal they were not. Their teeth could still bite and their claws render a person to pieces.

The daughters of the Erlking were beautiful as they were talented. There were three. One was a singer, who could seduce with the sound of her voice alone; Wizards would later name her kind Sirens. The second was also considered in many versions of the Erlking legend as the Mother. It was she who comforted the dead children and she who helped the newest Huntsmen settle into their new unlife. The youngest child was a dancer. Her body moved as if to invisible music, and the unwary were captivated by her dance. The dancing usually led to intercourse, during which the daughter could steal the soul from her unlucky victim if she chose. Wizards had named her kind Succubae.

As he explained all of this, the Erlking carried Harry towards a Thestral hidden in the mist. The other three Huntsmen each had a hand on the reins of their own beast. With ease, but care, the Erlking heaved himself into his seat without needed to let go of his beloved boy.

"It sounds really nice there." He wrapped a corner of the human skin cloak around his own shoulders to keep warm.

The Erlking smirked beneath his hood, his eyes fixed on Harry's lips for a second before he leant down to steal a chaste kiss. "Nice would not be the word I would have used." His voice carried a hint of sardonic, but as Harry was used to people being much more blunt, he didn't flinch at all. The Erlking knew of course, and as if to apologize, he held the child tighter.

Time would pass as quickly as a second in the Lodge, while really it had been years on earth. Or vice versa. Time, like the temperature, and the Hounds, all depended on the mood of the Erlking. And as it was, he was tempted to keep Harry to himself for as long as possible. If time passed too quickly on earth Harry would eventually have to die, and then he could no longer be the Erlking's beloved, because then his soul would belong to the Erlking anyway, as just another dead child. He would lose his importance, like everyone else, in death. He would no longer matter.

As they rode towards the forest where the Erlking had first set eyes on Harry, the pondered the turn of events. If it had not been for that fat human, his beloved boy would not be in his arms right then. So it seemed, that the Erlking owed Vernon Dursley a debt of gratitude.

The Erlking may not be kind, but he most certainly honoured his debts. So he would repay the favour in kind. Reflecting on what he could remember of the boy from reading Harry' soul the Erlking decided he'd be doing the Dursley's a favour anyway. Vernon Dursley gave him his beloved, delicate boy –

– so the Erlking would take Vernon's away!

**XXX**

1. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

2. The Erlking by John Connolly.

**Words: **

**Chapter 3**

**Prince of the Forest**

coming soon…

TBC 

Thanks for reading. And thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter; I'm glad it went down so well. Please review again (or, for those of you with children, I'll come and take them away… signed, Your Friendly Neighbourhood Erlking)!

I need to think of a decent name for him… does anyone know what his actual name is? Cause I can't find it? It has to be something powerful, but that I wont misspell lol!!!


	3. Prince of the Forest

Anyway, some people thought that The Erlking was going to take Vernon's soul – he isn't. He's going to take Dudley's. The Erlking has a boy he likes; so he's going to take away a boy Vernon likes.

Thanks for the reviews guys!

a href"http://k155-me. target"blank" img src"http://img. border"0" alt"The Erlking by Aisling" /a 

**Words: ** 2,879

**Chapter 3**

**Prince of the Forest**

April 1986.

The mist was still swirling around the feet of the Huntsmen. It rose and flowed, like a river in a storm, swelling and cresting against flesh and falling back to the ground with the imaginary sound of thunder. Or at least that's what Harry thought it was doing. He still lay in the Erlking's arm, but his face was no longer pressed to the creature's neck. Instead, his chin rested on the shoulder of the King, while he peered over at the mist that ate at the Thestral's hooves, devouring them from sight. He shuddered lightly, and pulled the cloak of human skin tighter around him.

The Erlking looked fondly down on him, before tugging at the reins of his steed. The Thestral stopped and stood unnaturally still as the Erlking took Harry from his lap and placed him in the arms of a woman who now stood beside him.

Harry looked around as the Erlking dismounted. They were in a clearing, deep in the forest where he'd been abandoned. There were tents of some sort, erected in threes in various patches through the clearing. Small fires burnt beside the tents, and Huntsmen crowded around them, despite the fact that they could no longer feel the cold. Harry looked enviously at the men standing close to the flames and shivered. The woman who held him looked up at the Erlking for permission. When the creature nodded, she walked towards one of the fires and placed the child on her lap when she sat on the floor. The men who had been sitting there, stood and walked away.

"Why did they do that?" Harry asked quietly, holding his small hands out to the flames.

The woman smiled. She wasn't a stunning beauty, but she was pretty in her own right. Harry thought she looked like one of those TV mums; they ones who always smiled and sung her children to sleep at night, while spending the whole day baking for her husband. She was homely, and warm and soft, and from the look of her, Harry assumed that she was safe. Aunt Petunia certainly didn't look like this woman. The only thing they had in common was light brown hair.

"They show respect to the Erlking's beloved, and his daughter." She mentioned herself last; because of course Harry was the most important thing in the Erlking's life right then.

"You're one of his daughters?" Harry turned around to grin at her excitedly. She nodded, and his smile widened. "My name is Harry. What's yours?"

Her eyes softened at his smile, and she grinned widely back at him. "Genetrix," she answered softly, her voice warm. "My King has work to do, beloved child. My sisters and I will care for you."

As she spoke, two other women came closer to him. One was older than Genetrix, and she too was pretty with her long dark red hair like crimson silk and her china white face. She gave a small curtsey and held her hand out to be shaken. As Harry took it, she said, "My name is Aduro, enchanting child."

"I am Presul, it is an honour dear boy." The other woman, not more than a girl really, was the youngest of the three. Now she was stunningly beautiful, and she began swaying softly as Harry reached out a hand for her to shake. Harry was only five years old, but already he could see that she was an amazingly good-looking female. He was hard pressed to look away from her. It was only when Aduro began to hum under her breath that Harry's eyes were dragged away from the Succubae and drawn to the Siren.

Genetrix sighed and lightly touched both her sisters on the arms. Presul flicked her long blond hair out of her eyes, and smiled at the child. Harry smiled warmly back. "Be careful with him," Genetrix warned her sisters, as Presul began to sway again. "She likes to dance," the brunette whispered to the dark haired boy.

From the other side of the clearing, the King of the Alders watched his children interact with his beloved boy. He smiled under his hood and turned back to his Thestral. Once he had mounted the horse, he looked at the handful of Huntsmen standing by his side. Each of them fell to one knee as he turned his gaze upon them. "We ride tonight, to Little Whinging."

An almighty cheer went up, like a rocket to the sky, loud and explosive and it made Harry jump in fright. The Erlking turned his steed, and with the sound of thunderbolts, the Huntsmen rode out, their horses' hooves echoing like gunshots through the forest and the streets. The daughters watched them go, and each smiled serenely at the other, before returning their attentions to the enchanting, delicate child seated in the Mother's lap.

_XXX_

As always with a Hunt the Dark Faerie scouted ahead. It was they who sought out the awake and restless. It was they who led the Huntsmen and the Hounds to their quarry. They were small creatures, no bigger than an adults thumb. They were all black; their skin was black, their pupils were black and stood out sharply against the whites of their eyes. They wore dresses made out of dead, withered leaves held together by thorny vines and briars. If they were to rub against you, their clothing would cut your skin. Which was usually what they wanted, as the Dark Faerie fed of the blood of humans. A handful of Faerie would drain an adult drier than the desert almost as quickly as a bloodthirsty vampire. Small, translucent black wings sprouted from their shoulder blades, fluttering lightly in the wind and mist as they flew with the Hunt.

The Thestrals galloped behind the Faerie. Their eyes glowing red and rolling madly in their sockets. From their nostrils, with every breath, spurted streaks of fire, singeing any Faerie who flew too close. Their tails flew out behind them, thin and skeletal, like a demented whip. Their wings were kept tucked to their sides, because their riders did prefer to ride.

The Erlking rode at the head, his Huntsmen were spread out behind him in diamond formation. Each held the reins with one hand, and a weapon of choice with the other. The one robes in Mermaid scales was directly to the Erlking's right, while the Thestral clothes rider was to the left. The Huntsman with the centaur skin cloak was behind the Erlking, with many more behind him. "Ramon," the Erlking called and the Mermaid skinned rider rode ahead. The other two generals were named Galhar and Morfis. Galhar tightened his Thestral pelt cloak around his shoulders and waited for instructions.

When the Erlking called his name, he sped his horse up, catching onto Ramon. "We ride with the Hunt!" He cried as Ramon gave a blood curdling war cry. They stopped at the edge of Privet Drive, waiting until the other Huntsmen caught up. They were scouting along with the Dark Faerie for those who were awake.

At their feet, the Ghost Hounds gave pathetic wines and barks, each demanded blood and meet to quench their thirst. Unfortunately for them, this wasn't a Hunt for food. Not unless the Hunt got lucky.

As it happened, they did.

There were at least five houses on the street where a child was still awake. That meant the Erlking could go to them, he could take them if he wanted. It also meant that, as the Erlking was invited inside, so were his Hunters. With smiles that would freeze the blood in your veins, Galhar and Ramon rode towards Number 18, while the Hounds followed Morfis to Number 2. The Hounds returned dripping blood, and Morfis was carrying nothing; the Hounds had obviously let themselves run wild. The Erlking looked disapproving, but said nothing. After all, there was a possibility that those people knew how his dear boy had been treated, and did nothing.

Galhar and Ramon each came back with someone thrown over their Thestral. One was a child, the other her mother. The other Huntsmen were sent to Number 10 and Number 23. The Erlking himself went to Number 4, Privet Drive.

He knocked lightly at Dudley's bedroom window. When the boy did not answer, the mist slithered up the side of the house, creeping under the window ledge and squirming its way into the bedroom of the five-year-old boy. As the mist entered, so did the Erlking. His body seemed to blur and twist until he was one with the fog, and together they slithered inside the house.

Dudley was lying on his bed with the TV on. The volume was so loud that the Erlking actually flinched from the unnatural noise assaulting his ears. "_Come to me, dear boy_," he whispered, his voice floating across the room as soft and inconsistent as lace, falling lightly into Dudley's ears like rain. Each word dripped one by one, pouring over him until it was all Dudley was aware of. "_Be with me, come with me. Come boy, embrace me_."

Dudley moved: jerkily standing from the bed and making his way towards the shrouded figure in a cloak that had turned dark with age. The Erlking bent down slightly, so his mouth was to Dudley's ear. The blond boy touched the fur on the cloak lightly. The Erlking smiled, amused, as Dudley's hand drew back and he gasped. The scalps were still tinged with red, the hair hanging on in clumps, matted with blood where it touched the skin. Dudley shuddered and tried to take a step back, but the voice of the Erlking assaulted his ears again, and he was powerless to resist.

He carried on forward, his arms moving to wrap around the Erlking's shoulders. The King placed his hands around Dudley's waist, pulling the boy against his chest. His head lowered, his red eyes – hidden under the hood – were trained on the blond boy's lips.

The moment their lips brushed Dudley tried to pull away, but the Erlking held him tight. His tongue parted the child's lips and forced its way inside. Slowly the Erlking began to devour the boy's mouth, and with it, his soul.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Vernon and Petunia Dursley frowned simultaneously as screams began sounding from the house next door. The Dursley's didn't particularly like the people at Number 2, because their garden was always nicer than Petunia's one. But, they were screaming. Any normal person would be worried.

"Shut up, I can't hear the TV!" Vernon roared at the wall that separated the two houses.

More screams started. This time they were from outside the house. Petunia walked over to the window, brushing down her skirt as she peered through the net curtains. Mrs Lewis and her daughter from Number 18 were lying in the street right outside the Dursley's front garden. The young girl was naked and spread eagle while one of the Huntsmen enjoyed himself within her. The Hounds were holding the mother back; occasionally one would lunge forwards and dig its claws or its teeth into the woman, who shrieked, before being ordered away.

The Dursley's didn't know the man who lived at Number 23 as he had just moved in. However, his two children went to playschool with Dudley. But that didn't really matter, as the man was hardly recognizable now. The Huntsmen had beaten him to death with their weapons. A mace was still embedded in the side of his head. As Vernon joined his wife at the window, a Hunter placed his foot on the man's neck and yanked the mace out, taking half of his skull with it.

Petunia almost screamed as she saw two half naked men drag Miss Williamson, and her younger sister Anne, out of Number 10 and over to the Lewis'. Anne, who was only twelve, was left beside the girl being raped. The Huntsman, who dragged her there, sat on her legs and smirked lewdly at Miss Williamson, before tearing the clothes off of the child. As he made the little girl scream, his companion set the Dark Faerie on Miss Williamson. She cried and begged as the Faerie began to bite her and rub against her, their clothing tearing her skin and drawing blood.

Petunia and Vernon gagged silently while backing away from the window. They could still hear the screams, but now they couldn't see anything. Only the child in Number 2 had been awake. But he was asleep now – forever.

A loud thump echoed through the house and the Dursley adults ran up the stairs as quickly as they could. Petunia screamed loud enough to drown out their dying neighbours, as she took in the sight of her son, pale and slumped over on the floor. Standing above him was the Erlking, his teeth flashing menacingly from beneath his hood. He raised a hand, in which there was a dagger. Petunia watched the blood drip from the blade before her eyes found the cut on her son's forehead.

It was shaped like a lightening bolt.

Vernon Dursley fainted dead away. The Erlking gave a bellowing laugh as the woman sank to her knees and desperately tried to rouse her dead child. "And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."**1** The Erlking whispered, before leaving the room through the window he entered. Behind him, the curtains flapped in the breeze and the mist swirled around the room before crawling after her master. The dead child and his family remained in the room that would forever smell of mould and decomposing leaves.

Whether dead or alive, the Huntsmen left their quarry when the Erlking stepped foot outside of the house. As one, they redressed and mounted their Thestrals. The horses trampled the few who remained alive in pools of their own blood as they galloped away, or the Hounds savaged them, as they lingered a little longer to finish their meals.

The Erlking led the Hunting party back to the clearing in the forest – and to his beloved.

_XXX_

Back in the clearing, the daughters were busy reading Harry. And no, they were not reading to him. They were reading him. Genetrix had her eyes closed, her hands pressed to Harry's cheeks while Presul clutched both of Harry's hands in hers and Aduro held her hands against Harry's chest, his heart.

Aduro hummed lightly as they tried to read his magic and his aura. It was there, within him, deep inside of the child, but so many years away from magic of any kind had repressed the innate power within the child. And it was the daughters' task to bring that power to the forefront. By reading Harry's magic, they could see how powerful he would be, how much training he'd need, how useful he would be. And they also find out about his parents.

Genetrix gasped as she Saw a handsome stag and a beautiful doe standing side by side beside a Werewolf and a Grim. Genetrix knew this must be Harry's family, but the people he was taken from were not magical in any way. His parents were deer – she delved in deeper and smiled happily as she caught sight of a faun.

Her father was the King of the Alders, and in time, his beloved would be the Prince of the Forest.

And so they began to teach Harry how to reach inside of himself and take hold of his magic. They taught him how to use his magic, after taking hold of it, how to push and pull it, to shape what he wanted. With the image in his head they helped him use his magic to change his body.

When the Erlking arrived back with the Huntsmen he was met with the sight of his daughters dancing in a circle around his beloved boy. However, Harry wasn't a boy anymore. He was a regal and exceptionally pretty faun with a white lightening bolt between his eyes.

The Erlking gave a small bow to the Prince of the Forest, and the faun dropped down on his front legs, and bound forward to lick at the Erlking's face.

"I am Audenarde," the Erlking whispered, pushing down his hood. His face was china white, his lips a blood red, as were his eyes. His nose was thin and his cheekbones high, and from his forehead sprouted two curved horns that were sharpened into lethal points. "King of the Alders," he finished, and every creature in the clearing bowed before him, and the branches of the trees trembled as if in fear.

"All hail," they cried together, the wind howled along in chorus.

"Can we go home, please?" Harry asked, having changed back. He was naked, and the Erlking took off his cloak and wrapped it around his beloved, covering him from the hungry eyes of his servants. The Erlking remounted his Thestral and bent to catch Harry under the arms before lifting the boy onto his lap. The Huntsmen followed.

Magic packed their belongings and put out the fires, and one by one the riders and their steeds disappeared into the thickening mist, and reappeared on the other side.

In the Eternal Lodge.

**XXX**

1. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

TRANSLATIONS:

Matris, Mater Matris, **Genetrix** – Mother - Brown

**Aduro**, Ustilo Ustulo – Singer - Red

**Presul**, Praesul Presul – Dancer - Blond

**Audenarde** - Alders (as in, King of the)

TBC

**Words: **

**Chapter 4**

**Manhunt**

Coming soon….


	4. Manhunt

Here is another chapter from me. While I speak, am I re-reading **Indelible** so I can try and get another chapter out…

I won' be posting anything for the following week, sorry. I will be at my dad's house all week, and his computer has deleted Word Count, and I'm really fussy about that… so, while I will write, I won't post till I get back home.

**Words: **2,415

**Chapter 4**

**Manhunt**

February 1987.

When a child goes missing, do its parents not worry? Do they not search for the child, desperately hoping against all odds that they may see their child again soon? If your child disappeared would you not want to find it? If your child died and your ward disappeared would it be a different matter?

With the death of Dudley, the Dursley's moved away from Privet Drive. They left behind all of Dudley's toys and clothes, but took everything of their own. When the police questioned them, the elder Dursley's admitted that the Potter's had been murdered and the killer was probably in league with Lord whats-his-name. The police didn't question them much after that, because by then Albus Dumbledore had gotten hold of them and had them Obliviated. As far as Dumbledore was concerned, a Death Eater had killed Dudley, but Harry was fine.

And why wouldn't he be? There had been none of Harry's things found at Privet Drive, so it stands to reason that they boy and his things went with the Dursleys. Of course, we know that Harry didn't have anything, and we also know that no Death Eater was responsible for the horrors that took place on Privet Drive.

With the assumption that Harry was alive and well, and with the Dursleys, Dumbledore took no further action to assure the whereabouts of the boy.

However, one of Harry's teachers was worried. When he and Dudley had been in her class she had noticed how withdrawn the boy was. And after the death of his cousin, and Harry's consecutive move away, she had forwarded his school records to the schools in the same area as the Dursleys new home. Recently all of those schools had emailed her back informing her that there was no child registered with them by the name Dursley or Potter, or even Evans. She had, reasonably, called the police.

Again, Albus Dumbledore intervened.

It was still cold in February, and there was light frost sprinkled across the ground as Albus Dumbledore and his employee walked up the small winding lane towards a modest cottage on the outskirts of Derbyshire. Dumbledore himself was tall with a white beard almost as long as him. His hair was white, and trailed along the ground behind him like a wedding veil. His spotted yellow and red robes were glaringly conspicuous among the plain, normal dressed people in the town.

Severus Snape was tall, greasy and imposing. He was however a Death Eater spy who had loved Harry Potter's mother to distraction. This, of course from Dumbledore's point of view, made his uses innumerable.

The Dursleys were fortunate that they lived just outside of the main town, because the gossip concerning these strange men in dresses would have been unbearable for them. When Vernon answered the door he was about three sizes smaller than the last time he was seen. Apparently his grief at the death of his son had deprived him of his appetite.

Without a word, Vernon held the door open and allowed Dumbledore and his colleague to enter. It may be possible that he had risen above his hatred of magic. Petunia was seated on a small couch in the living room. Her eyes were ringed in red and her cheeks were blotchy. In one hand she held a tissue, and in the other there was a small pocketsize photograph of her, her husband and their son.

"I have been informed," Albus began as he conjured himself a spot of tea, "that Harry is no longer with you."

"Good riddance to the freak." Vernon muttered. Apparently, he wasn't over the whole hating magic business. He just didn't want any nosy neighbours seeing anything untoward.

Snape had his wand at the man's throat within a second of the words passing his lips. "Silence, Muggle." He hissed, "that is Lily's child you're speaking of." Now, while Snape hated James Potter, it was mentioned that he loved the boy's mother greatly. Lily was his first and only friend; and when James began to bully him, Lily always made sure to stick up for him. It wasn't until he became a Death Eater that they drew apart – Voldemort's hatred of Muggleborns alienated Lily enough to cause a rupture in her friendship with Severus.

Severus Snape had sworn an oath to protect Lily's child to his death, because he hadn't been able to protect her. Despite the fact that he begged for her life, she still died, and it was entirely his fault. He had told the Dark Lord about the prophecy that had resulted in Lily's death, and he couldn't forgive himself for it. And now, he had lost Harry Potter, Lily's child.

"Now Severus," the old Wizard murmured placing a hand on the dark haired man's arm. "Why did you not inform us that Harry was no longer with you? I understand if you needed time to grieve them both, bu-"

"Grieve both of them?" Vernon shouted, cutting the other man off. "We are grieving our son. We don't care about that stupid freak! We don't even know what happened to him." Petunia laid her hand on his arm and he calmed down almost immediately. His hand moved across to rub at her stomach. When Severus looked carefully he could easily make out the swell of her abdomen.

"I'd congratulate you," he said derisively, "but people like you should be allowed to procreate." His eyes narrowed. "Where is Lily's son?"

"He was sick. All he did was shiver and moan, and I was so tired of taking care of that boy. He would have made Dudley sick, you know. I had to protect my son. Vernon took him somewhere. I didn't ask where." She looked away shamefully. "I'm sure he's better off where he is."

"Where did you leave him, Mr. Dursley?" Albus asked, his fingers steepled under his chin.

"At the edge of the forest in Surrey. Off the path," he added after a seconds pause. Dumbledore didn't seem to be listening to the last part. He was on his feet, his wand out and pointed at Vernon's nose.

"What did you say?" Severus hissed before Albus could get a word out.

"We left him in the forest." Vernon squeaked.

"We? We? Vernon Dursley! I had no part in that!" Petunia shrieked.

"You are just as responsible as your husband," Albus said gravely, sitting back down. "Harry wasn't with you the night your son died?"

"No, I left him there earlier that evening."

"So there is a chance he is alive." Severus breathed, hardly able to believe there was still a chance for him to fulfil his oath.

"Severus, it's been ten months." Albus frowned; he desperately did not want his colleague to get his hopes to high.

"He's Lily's child, Albus, I have to hope for the best." The elder man nodded. "You are coming with us Muggle. You'll show us exactly where you left him." Severus grabbed Vernon by the front of his jumper and began to drag the struggling man towards the door.

Albus followed silently, his brows furrowed as he thought of something to tell Minister Fudge.

_XXX_

Dumbledore called in a few favours as Severus apparated Vernon to the forest in Surrey. With half of the Order of the Phoenix gathered at the same forest, Vernon was starting to feel rather uncomfortable. The Order of the Phoenix was a rag-tag group of Light Witches and Wizards that had fought Voldemort during the first war. Now, they banned together once more in his absence to find the lost Harry Potter: saviour of their world.

Each of them paired off and began exploring the forest. There were strange markings on the floor, which remained almost a year later.

Unlike normal horses, the beasts ridden by the Huntsmen were dead, and when they breathed and ran they snorted trails of fire. The magical fire expelled by the Thestrals had singed areas of the forest where they had been clustered together. After almost a year the grass had still not grown back, nor had trees cut down by the Huntsmen re-grown.

They found the clearing at the same time, each of the pairs entering from different angles. They took in the wide-open space and the small patches on the ground where the grass had died. All of them frowned as they searched the area, looking for any signs of the people or things that might have taken Harry.

As they approached a circle of stones, which were once used to hold in a small fire, mist rose from the circle, dancing above it as if rising from flame. But there was no fire, nor was there anything inside of the stones to burn. Albus kicked the stones softly, unsettling them, but still the smoke didn't move away.

Instead, it drifted closer to him. It became thicker and colder, until their breath could been seen in front of them, and then until it disappeared and all they could see was mist.

A woman, not extremely beautiful, but attractive nonetheless stood at the edge of the clearing, watching them silently. By her side, a small hand held in hers was Faun. The little boy tilted his head to one side and smiled softly as he recognized Vernon. "Can he be my 7th birthday present?" The child whispered while the woman merely gifted him with a soft smile before turning back to look at the crowd of magical folk. She needed one of them. A decent sort, one who was willing to walk over hot coals for the child whose hand she held. Someone to teach him the way of Wizards.

And possibly, if the chance arose, someone – a child – to be his friend.

"It's obvious he was taken. There aren't any animals in this forest that would eat meat," a few shuddered at the old Wizards words. "His body should still be here. It's very likely that Harry is alive. We need to keep hoping. And make sure to keep an eye out and an ear open."

They all nodded and began to disperse. "Who do you think took him?" Severus whispered, looking back at the mist that still choked the clearing. They had reached the trees again, and were taking shelter in their leaves and branches, hiding from the deathly fog.

"'Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?' 'My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain.'**1** Is that not how it goes?" Albus asked, his eyes narrowed as he watched the mist dancing. His eyes widened, as, in the centre of the clearing, a woman and a child appeared from the mist.

Genetrix bowed low to the child before turning her attention to the Muggle let forgotten on the floor. "You shouldn't stray from the path," she whispered. Her hand touched Faun's shoulder and the boy smiled warmly.

"Come with us," he breathed, "be with us." His hand moved out slowly, hesitantly as if he were afraid Vernon would bolt from him. "Be one with us." His voice never rose above a whisper but Albus could hear every word.

With a wordless 'Accio' Vernon was in the trees with them, and Harry Potter had been deprived of his game.

When Severus turned to look in the direction the Muggle had flown from, there was no one there. The mist had risen to cover them from sight. Albus couldn't be sure if that was Harry or not, but he had a fair idea of who would steal children, especially a child lost and alone in a forest at night.

"Come Severus, we should leave." Snape shot his employer a worried look but didn't ask any questions. He grabbed Vernon by the arm and apparated him back to his new home, before Severus made his way to Hogwarts. Albus stayed a moment longer in the forest, straining his eyes as he desperately tried to make out the features of the child that seemed to be a part of the mist itself. "We'll find you Harry. The Wizarding world will not rest until you have been found. A manhunt will happen, I promise you." He told the mist reassuringly, desperately hoping that his boy was safe and sound, despite being in the hands of the Erlking.

_XXX_

"They'll hunt men, my King!" Genetrix cried as she caught sight of the Erlking lounging in a chair. She threw herself to his feet and sobbed lightly. Harry smiled down at her and crawled into Audenarde's lap. The Erlking raised his hand and began to fun his long, bony fingers through the child's hair. Harry gave a small wince, once in a while, as the briars twined around the creature's fingers caught on Harry's ebony strands. The Erlking soothed the boy's pain with a kiss to the temple.

"What is this you speak of Genetrix?" The Erlking drawled his low voice thrumming through the veins of everyone in his presence, making each one of them want to bow and please him.

"They plan a man hunt, my King." She repeated.

Morfis snarled. His cloak of Centaur skin fluttered in the breeze and mist as his hands clenched and he moved forward to kneel at the Erlking's feet. "They must be trying to draw us out, my Liege. And while we compete with them for the souls of man, they will find a way to sneak in here and steal your beloved boy."

The Erlking raised an eyebrow at him before turning his attention to the child who was snickering softly on his lap. "And what is it you find so amusing my pet?"

"A manhunt is where loads of people go looking for one thing or person." The child corrected the others. They who had no knowledge of the mortal world blushed lightly and all agreed it was more likely that the magical humans would search for Harry in the mortal world, than they were to steal souls from their comrades.

"And let them look, my faithful," the Erlking drawled. "They may look as far and as wide as they wish, but man will never look for what is right in front of him, just within his grasp." And of course the Huntsmen lived in the Eternal Lodge that would lead them to any forest they chose. The Forbidden Forest, which grew around the boundaries of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Dumbledore lived, was a forest as well was it not?

**XXX**

1. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

TBC

**Words: **

**Chapter 5**

**Faerie Tales (subject to change)**

Coming as soon as…

Thanks for reading guys. And thank you especially to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I love being appreciated! Keep reading and reviewing, please?


	5. Faerie Tales

Ok, I know it's been ages, and I know I promised to write chapters while I was at my dads and then post them… but I didn't.

I broke my dads computer… so I spent a lot of time trying to fix it… then it was mad busy trying to find time to see some old friends of mine… Sorry.

But I am updating now (and at least it hasn't been four months, like with some other stories of mine).

Oh yeah, did a one-shot for Battle Royale if anyone reads that – please look. It's called **Creatures Lie Here**.

Yay! Malfoys….

**Words: **2,125

**Chapter 5**

**Faerie Tales**

August 1990.

In some places, some people would be thrilled to learn that magic was real. Some would be suspicious or cynical. Others might be curious or nervous. But it really depended on the type of magic. Would you enjoy magic tricks? Would the site of centaurs and mermaids amaze you? Might you enjoy a ride on a Comet 360, or would you be afraid to fall off?

And if you saw a fairy would you giggle and let it dance around your head?

Some might. Some might even reach out and try to grab the fairy. Hold it, and squeeze it and cuddle it to your chest or cheek. At least, that's what Draco Malfoy tried to do. But, as his fist shot forward to catch the Faerie it hissed at the blond child. Its black, almost see-through wings fluttered lightly as it flew out of reach, its lips drawing back to reveal a mouth full of sharp, blackened teeth. Draco paid the threat no mind. His hand shot forward again and he laughed as he caught the Dark Faerie by its long black hair.

He held it lightly, clasped between two hands, because if he held it too tight the briars that held its dress of dead leaves on would cut into his palms. Smiling, Draco began to walk back towards his parents.

Draco lived in Malfoy Manor. The estate had been in the Malfoy family for generations, and it was hidden from the Muggles by a number of powerful repelling charms. His parents, Lucius and Narcissa, were walking the grounds together, talking quietly as their son ran towards them. It was relatively late, but it was a full moon and Draco had always enjoyed watching the full moon rise. And, Merlin help his parents, but they indulged him.

"Look, look!" He exclaimed holding his cupped hands forwards. As he began to open them, the ten-year-old boy let out a wail and ripped his hands towards his body. One palm was dripping blood, and the Faerie was freed and hovering in front of the child's face, its eyes narrowed.

Its teeth were blood strained, as was its mouth, and Draco cradled his bleeding palm as Narcissa Malfoy dragged her son away from the Faerie. Lucius' wand was drawn and pointed at the fluttering creature. The Faerie merely snarled in return. As Lucius was about to cast a spell, a handful of Faerie appeared from the surrounding trees, all of which hissed and gnashed their teeth at the trio of Wizards.

They turned to the one who had bitten Draco and spoke. While some fairy tales say that fairies sound like the tinkling of bells, or wind chimes, but when these Faerie spoke, their words sounded like notes from an Organ**3**; low, ominous and depressing. Draco's face was pressed against his mother's side, low sobs emitting from him, his chest heaving. Lucius still had his wand pointed at the creatures, but now he looked less sure of himself.

As one, the swarm of Faerie flew away from the Wizards and went to find the rest of the Hunting party.

Lucius' wand slowly lowered, so his arm was hanging by his side. His grip was still tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Narcissa came towards him, her hand resting on his cheek. "Were they what I think they were?"

"I believe so." His voice was tight, his face pale.

"Daddy," the child whispered, his uninjured hand held tightly in his mother's. "It bit me. Why did the fairy bite me?"

"Why were they here?" Narcissa asked anxiously, ignoring her son for the moment. "Do you think they wanted Draco?"

"He isn't ill, Cissa."

She wrung her hands together, letting go of Draco's. "But it's late, and if they're hunting… Shouldn't we put him to bed?" Her long white-blond hair was twisted in a plait, hanging down to her waist, but she nervously ran her hand through it, forgetting it was tied, and pulled half of it loose. Lucius, not enjoying being nervous at all, took her hands in his and held them still.

"If they're here it's too late for that. Salazar, when the Muggles started to go missing, I thought, for a moment I thought our Lord might be returning, Cissa. I was worried that he hadn't called for me." He let out a relieved chuckle. "At least I'm not in ill favour."

"What do we do?" She looked down at him. He had walked a little away from them, annoyed with being ignored, and was wiping his bloody hand on his robes. "Dragon, stop that." She scolded, and he immediately stopped, turning to her with wide eyes.

"We should send him away."

"What?" She cried, unbelieving her husbands words.

"He could live with Severus! It'll only be an extra year at Hogwarts. I'm sure he'd enjoy it. And if Dumbledore was the only person our lord feared, surely the Erlking would feel the same?" He let her hands go, tucking his wand back into his pocket and brushing down his robes. "I'll fire-call Severus right now."

As Lucius made his way inside, to his study, Narcissa watched her only child as he began to chase something else. He giggled and squealed as he caught something in his hands. Again he ran towards his mother to show him her prize. Narcissa held her breath as he began to reveal what he'd caught. With a relieved sigh, she watched the butterfly disappear from sight, before ordering Draco back into the house.

_XXX_

That same night, the Erlking searched for souls to steal. What he found, instead, was a Werewolf. He was riding upon his beast, his beloved cradled in his arms, held tight to his chest as they rode out on Faun's first Hunt. The Thestral reared back, its front legs kicking out, almost unseating the crown of thorns upon the creature's head. Audenarde's eyes narrowed, unseen beneath his hood. A lock of jet-black hair fell forward as Harry's hand moved to cling on to the man's cloak. "What was that?" The child whispered.

He scanned ahead of him, the fog that accompanied him swirled and rose, rushing forward into the trees and enveloping whatever hid in the bushes. A howl went up, sending the birds from their hiding places, and causing the Thestral to rear again. The Erlking stretched out his hand, his voice was low and hypnotic as he spoke. "Come to me, come forth to me, show yourself to us."

Slowly, hesitantly, a paw came forward, a leg stretched out after it, emerging from the forest as a second paw followed it. Soon, sitting on its haunches in front of the Erlking and his beloved, a Werewolf appeared.

"Hello Remus Lupin," the Erlking greeted with a smile full of flashing teeth. Harry turned in the creature's arms and greeted the Werewolf as well. At the sound of Harry's voice, Remus stood and moved forward, sniffing around the Thestral a it caught the scent of his best friends child. "Ah, I see you recognize Harry." The Erlking grinned as the Werewolf reared back and let out a blood-curdling cry.

Before he could attack the Erlking, Morfis and Galhar appeared from the mist, a club each, and struck Remus across the head. He slumped unconscious to the floor. The two Huntsmen tied him to the back of a Thestral, and they walked behind the Erlking as he rode ahead. He summoned the Dark Faerie and he whistled for his Hounds, and together they returned to the Eternal Lodge.

The night was rather more prosperous than he had expected. Harry would be well protected and cared for, by both the Werewolf and the Erlking himself. For now, they had found his beloved a teacher of magic, not of the Erlking's kind.

_XXX_

It had taken over three years, but finally, he thought he might be ready. He had searched long and hard, he had studied every reference to the Erlking that he could find, and he had even memorized the poem by heart. Albus Dumbledore now considered himself an expert in the topic of the King of the Alders. And as an expert, he felt it was time to meet the creature himself.

He was going to summon the Erlking forth, and demand the safe return of Harry Potter. He, Severus and Minerva McGonagall stood, each positioned as one point of a triangle. Each held a candle in one hand and a branch of an Alder tree in the other. As Albus began to chant, Severus raised his head and stepped out of position.

"Excuse me, Sir. The wards around my rooms are going off, I must see what's wrong." Because it was summer and there were no worrisome, nosy students present at the castle, it could only mean that someone was fire-calling him. And the only person who did that was Lucius. And if Lucius fire-called without warning, it meant something was wrong with his Godson. "Excuse me."

"Ah, well," Dumbledore said with a shrug. "Send over the first Professor you see then, will you?" Severus nodded and swept from the room. As he passed the kitchens, Professor Quirrell emerged.

"Ah hello, Severus!"

Quillius. Looking forward to your trip? Where are you going again?" Severus asked, feigning interest as the man began to prattle on about leaving for Albania in two days. "Studying Vampires, well, fascinating." Severus rolled his eyes when the other man wasn't looking. "Albus wants you in the Great Hall."

"Jolly good, have a good night," he waved as he walked off. Severus rolled his eyes again. It wasn't that he didn't like Quirrell; it was just that the man was such a weak-minded fool. If you told him the sun was green, he'd probably believe you, too afraid to argue.

"Lucius?" Severus called as he warded the door to his chambers. He moved towards the living area and found Lucius sitting on his couch. "What happened?"

"The Hunt rode through Wiltshire earlier this night. The Dark Faerie were after Draco." Severus moved to sit beside his closest friend. His hand squeezed Lucius' shoulder comfortingly.

"How can I help?"

"Hogwarts is the safest place in England." Lucius took Severus' chin in both of his hands, turning Severus' head so he could look directly in his eyes. "Let Draco come live here, with you. I'll compensate you, I swear it."

"I don't want your money Lucius." Taking the answer as a 'no' Lucius looked crestfallen. His expression lifted however when Severus spoke again. "I swore at his naming ceremony to protect him, just as I did for Potter. You don't have to pay me to protect him, Lucius."

"Thank you my friend." Lucius hugged the Potions Master, holding tightly to his friend in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. Severus, uncomfortably, patted the blond on the back, but bore the hug without a word. "Thank you."

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Albus was half way through his chant: it was a mixture of Latin and Old English, blended together three hundred years ago by a cleric in China who was desperate to find the cure for his sick brother, and only found death. But Albus was sure it would work this time. The cleric had been weak, unprotected, but Albus was one of the best Occlumens ever to exist. The Erlking's magic would not work on him.

As the mist began to swarm into the Great Hall through the windows and the doors, Dumbledore realized he had made a grave mistake. He may be an Occlumens, as was Severus and Minerva… but Quillius certainly wasn't. "No!" He screamed as the fog crashed towards the Defence Professor. It rose high, like a wave and slammed down upon him, knocking him to the ground. By the time Albus made his way towards the fallen man, McGonagall by his side, the mist had cleared and Quirrell was pale and still.

His body bent at a strange angle, his eyes were wide with fright and his mouth hung open, as if he were silently screaming for help. As Albus bent down to close the dead man's eyelids, the Erlking's laugh echoed through the Hall, and Dumbledore knew when he had lost.

He stood tall, facing off against the creature that was one with the remaining fog and held out his wand. "Just the battle, Erlking, not the war." He murmured, but the creature only laughed and disappeared in a swirl of mist.

Apparently, Lord Voldemort would not be possessing poor, unfortunate, weak-minded Quillius Quirrell this August. But the Dark Lord had other ways, and other means, so really nobody was worse off than the Professor himself.

And the Erlking's beloved now had two teachers. How – fortunate.

**XXX**

**3** Organ – I'm relatively certain that's the right word. The huge, big piano-things with the long golden pipes, where the music comes from. And they play the funeral march on it at church (but they might not any more, it's been decades since I went).

**Words: **

**Chapter 6**

**The Uninvited Guest**

November 1990.

COMING SOON…

Thanks for reading guys. I hope you still love me enough to review… Voldemort will be in the next chapter…


	6. The Uninvited Guest

I got 409 (and counting, for the late reviewers) for WOLF. Can we see if The Erlking can beat that number by the time this is over with? Go on… give it a go…

Also, sorry again for the delay in the updates. My lecturers thought they were helping us by not giving us essays before Christmas… so now I have four of them due in two weeks and I only have one and a half done…. So… wish me luck!

**Words: ** 3,855

**Chapter 6**

**The Uninvited Guest**

November 1990.

Albania.

Three months were hardly consequential to someone who could not measure time. His previous body had shrivelled up and collapsed, rejecting his soul fragment from the empty shell. He had wandered, aimless, listless, searching. His follower was supposed to be here three months ago, but even while the Dark Lord waiting no one came to heed him. He had floated to and fro, possessing this and that in order to stay grounded.

Even that fool Wormtail had deserted him.

Gone to spy on the Muggle-loving red heads no doubt; to pretend he had uses. To prove he was useful. Voldemort snorted: or he would have had he been able to. Unfortunately, and as demeaning as this was, he was currently a spider. Don't ask what kind, because the Dark Lord didn't know. He did, however, know that he would definitely be needing a new body soon.

It could almost be a coincidence, but Voldemort didn't believe in those. The lone Centaur was galloping straight towards him, but at the last minute, the beast seemed to spot the spider and reared backwards, slowing himself so he wouldn't crush the creature. His moment of kindness was also a moment of weakness. His lack of speed was a hindrance. As Voldemort watched, a pack of hounds that seemed to float above the surface of the ground shot forward from the trees, howling and foaming at the mouths. They jumped, mid pounce bearing their teeth, and landing on the back of the Centaur.

He screamed, reared and kicked and tried to dislodge them. But the hounds worked effortlessly together, like a pack of lionesses. When one fell, another jumped into its place, biting and clawing and howling, until at last the Centaur dropped to the ground. Still alive, it groaned feebly and tried to kick and slap away some of the pack. Suddenly the dogs backed away, but before the Centaur could bolt, another set of hooves came into view. Voldemort watched, the spiders multitude of eyes taking in the scene from every angle.

A Thestral had appeared from a cloud of fog, and now stood directly above the fallen Centaur. As the beast moved, the Thestral lifted its front left hoof and pressed it down to the side of the Centaur's face. The rider on its back nodded once, and the Thestral slammed its hoof down, crushing the head of the trapped animal beneath it. Upon the back of the Thestral sat Morfis, and now his cloak made from Centaur skin was spattered with blood.

Intrigued, Voldemort let the spider's legs take him closer. Closer and closer he crawled, every leg taking him an inch nearer to one of the hounds that hovered before him. When he was close enough, he did what the spider's residual instincts commanded he do. He reared back onto the back four legs and he jumped. He landed on the head of the hound, and allowed himself to slide down onto its neck. He struck, fast and true, the fangs embedding themselves into the dead flesh of the canine. He spat out the blood, but he allowed his soul to be sucked in.

What was left of the canine shuddered and writhed on the floor, but Morfis wasn't paying him any mind. The Huntsman was busy skinning his kill. Voldemort shook his metaphorical head, clearing away the memories of kills and Hunts from the shell he now possessed. He lay, his belly flat to the ground, trying to get used to the feeling of being weightless. While he did weigh nothing as a spirit, when he possessed something he usually had weight. But now he didn't. Because, he decided, the hound was dead to begin with; it was not living, nor was it like a living thing.

The Dark Lord hummed to himself, making the animal emit a small whine. He wondered who or what these creatures belonged to. And he also wanted to know why that – that insolent peasant just smacked the Dark Lord across the head.

"Blasted canis,"**3** Morfis hissed when he heard the dog whine. "Go lick up the blood with the rest of them." He smacked the hound once more, when it didn't move, before turning to mount his Thestral again. The pelt was flung over the back of the beast. He whistled and the hounds looked towards him, Voldemort included. "Come, we Ride."

_XXX_

As Morfis rode, the other Huntsmen rode. And as they rode they stole: lives, souls, emotions. They rode past houses with windows open, or children still awake and they tempted them outside with stories of the three daughters of the Erlking, and then they stole their souls. Or they ran through forests and woods, chasing mythical creatures and they stole their lives for sport. Or they came across a human, feeling happier than they themselves felt, and so they kissed them and stole away their happiness till all they felt was despair and all they wished for was death. But the Huntsmen would not grant that wish, for they found pleasure in the torture of others.

But when they finished riding, no matter what they stole or where from, they all returned to the same place.

The Eternal Lodge.

Where there sat the Erlking, surrounded on all sides by his three daughters, Aduro, Presul and Genetrix. They sat around a small campfire, the fire burning on air alone, as no wood or coal were being fed to the flames. In front of the fire stood a child and two men. One wore robes of purple velvet, tattered from three months constant use, while the other was dressed in threadbare brown cotton robes. The child however, was naked from the waist up. His legs were not human legs at all, instead they were curved like a horse's or a deer's legs, and his feet were cloven. Small, light brown, suede coloured hairs lightly covered those legs, and the child attached to them laughed as his fingers began to fuse together to form hooves as well.

Faun laughed and giggled until all that would come from his throat was a soft deer call, and the Erlking applauded as the ten-year-old child completed the full-body transformation once again. While the child had already been taught to change into his Animagus form of a deer, he had not until now learnt to change into a Faun. The mythical Pan, with cloven feet and hairy legs, was now as real as the boy in front of the fire. His chest was still childlike, as were his arms, and his face. But his hair was longer, and shaggier and turned a reddish brown, his hands and feet were cloven and his legs were not human. And when he spoke, he did not speak, instead he whinnied.

The man in the threadbare robes sighed. "Harry, beloved, try again, but don't change your voice." Faun looked over and nodded. His eyes closed and the Erlking and the Huntsmen watched as the fingers separated again, until there were five on each hand. The child's hair shortened and turned black as well.

"Sorry Remus," he said with a small smile. The Werewolf smiled back hesitantly then shot a cautious look at the Erlking. Audenarde was not forgiving to those who took advantage of his beloved – without permission. The Erlking didn't move though, so Remus turned his head to look back at his pupil.

"Well done, Harry." The Werewolf smiled. In the three months since he had been taken to the Lodge Remus Lupin had slowly learnt that the Huntsmen lived in almost the same way that a Wolf pack did. There was the Alpha, the Erlking. There were the Beta's, Morfis, Galhar and Ramon; and there were all the others, those necessary to make up numbers, to make the pack look strong. And of course, there were the Omega's, the bottom feeders whose sole existence was for the amusement of the important pack members. In the case of the Huntsmen, the Omega's were anyone who didn't belong. That meant Remus, himself, could be in danger. However, he was very careful to keep his relationship with Harry professional, and that same relationship made sure that he was treated fairly, if not with respect, because the Erlking's beloved wanted it so.

However, Quillius Quirrell was not one of those under the beloved's protection, if only for the sole reason that the Wizard was associated with both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. Therefore, the Erlking did not trust him, and so neither did his beloved boy.

"Now, Harry, change back for us, ok?" The boy nodded quickly and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. Herein lay the problem; Harry had yet to master the art of conjuring clothes when he changed back, and that always meant the boy was naked. The Erlking did not enjoy it when people – or creatures – viewed what belonged to him in such a manner. "And try to concentrate on conjuring clothing, ok?"

"I'm trying Remus." He whined petulantly, sounding like a boy his age was meant to.

The elder man snorted, before casting a worried glance at the Erlking – who still didn't react. "I know, kid," he said softly. "I know." He smiled cautiously, watching, his eyes riveted on Harry's legs as the hair began to shrivel and die. His legs were bare and smooth, but still curved. His toes appeared first, separating out until there were five on each foot, rather than two claws. His legs straightened, and, as Remus' eyes travelled up to the child's crotch. Before he could glimpse much of anything, black suede appeared, wrapping itself around narrow hips, and spreading to cover the thin legs from view as well. He was still shirtless, but it was a good start. "Well done, Harry!" Remus clapped, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

He stilled, and stepped backwards as the Erlking stood and approached them. Remus watched, half in fascination and half in disgust, as the creature before him stooped until he was eye level with the ten-year-old, and then took the boy's lips in a passionate kiss. He watched, eyes wide, lips set in a tight line, as the **thing** he was too scared to stand up to touched the son of Lily and James Potter.

But, he consoled himself, Harry didn't look unhappy. And the Erlking did take better care of him than the Muggles did.

The thought left his mind as he heard Harry give a high-pitched moan, before he whimpered. The trousers were gone, when Remus turned to look. The Erlking's right hand cupped the child's genitals, rolling the balls lightly and caressing the half-hard penis. While Harry was still to young to have developed sperm, Remus had seen the boy hard and panting numerous times. And all at the hands of the Erlking. The Werewolf shuddered; he couldn't understand how anyone could bare the creature's touch.

The hood had fallen down, and Remus averted his eyes from the scene. He glimpsed the creature briefly out of the corner of his eye, and again all he saw was a monster. The horns on his head were curled like a goats, and jetted out from a shock of long, pitch-black hair. His face was pale, and gaunt, almost skeleton like and his lips were thin and bloodless, and his eyes were ripped out, but he knew, that different people saw different things when they dared to look upon the Erlking. He knew for a fact, that when Harry looked at the creature, he saw an angel: dark and dangerous, but a saviour of sorts.

The boy was panting now, his hips thrusting lightly as the Erlking moved closer, capturing those petal pink lips in another kiss. Harry gasped, his head thrown back as he cried out the Erlking's name. He orgasmed, but the Erlking's hand stayed dry. Harry dropped to his knees, still naked, and his hands reached out for the Erlking's robes. He wanted to please, to serve. He was beloved.

The Erlking stopped him, his hand taking hold of Harry's narrow wrists, pining them together. "Stand my beloved." His eyes met those of Morfis' as he came back from his Hunt. The Canis' followed after him as he dismounted the Thestral and shooed the beast away. The Canis' scattered, except the one that housed the spirit of Lord Voldemort.

His red eyes narrowed at the sight of the beautiful, naked boy. The Erlking still held his wrists, and his body had begun to shiver from the cold. With a wave of his free hand, the Erlking's cowl had lifted to cover his head, face and horns, and Harry was once again dressed in the black suede trousers. The Erlking released the child's hands, and instead of pulling him onto his lap as he sat down, like he normally did, he shooed him towards his daughters. Harry went, happily skipping towards Genetrix. Harry was used to being sent away when the Huntsmen discussed the gorier aspects of their lives with the Erlking. And it wasn't like he particularly wanted to listen to tales of bloodshed and slaughter. His eyes met Remus' and he grinned, before allowing himself to be pulled down into the Mother's lap.

Voldemort shifted forward. It wasn't safe, he knew, to be the only hound in the vicinity. Someone was bound to realize there was something different to him, but he desperately wanted to know who these people were. He hated not knowing, he despised being clueless. Knowledge was power, and he was a powerful being – before a child ruined him.

And speaking of children, the boy before him was barely more than one. And he had remarkably similar eyes to the Prophecy Child who had destroyed the body of the Dark Lord. But, why would Harry Potter be here?

Slowly, hesitantly, he allowed his spirit to float free of the hound, and the creature dropped uselessly to the floor and remained there. He floated, taking phantom steps towards the child. The dark haired beauty stood, a small smile on his face as he walked away from the brunette woman. He waved once at the Werewolf, whom Voldemort recognized as a friend of James Potter. The Dark Lord followed the boy, his eyes landing on Quirrell as they passed. The turban-wearing man shuddered as two of the Huntsmen approached him and grabbed one of his arms each. They dragged him into the trees, and Harry watched disinterestedly until sounds of screaming and begging echoed back, followed by grunts and pants, and Harry finally looked away and kept walking.

Voldemort soon realized they were far from the eyes of any of the others, and he actually felt concern for the small boy. There was no one around to protect the child from any of those men, like the ones that were hurting Quirrell – not that Voldemort cared about that useless fool, mind you.

"Actually," the child said, his voice soft and his eyes fixed exactly where Voldemort was hovering. "They're asserting dominance on the omega through forced sexual intercourse."

"You can see me?" The man smirked to himself when the boy nodded. "So this is a pack of Werewolves?" He considered since there was an omega and a known Wolf in the clearing, the rest may be wolves too.

"No. Similar power structure. The Erlking is like our Alpha, and I am his beloved."

"Who are you, child? Why are you here?" Voldemort floated closer and Harry smiled, his hair falling to shade his Avada green eyes.

"Shouldn't I be asking you those questions? But, I already know who you are Lord Voldemort." The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as he took in the child. "That's why I came out here, away from the others."

"You lured me." He accused, feeling ridiculous for no noticing sooner. But it had been such a long time since someone could see him, he had just assumed.

"Yes. But I want to know why you came? I've been feeling your presence for a while, I knew you were returning soon." His hand brushed back his fringe and Voldemort caught sight of the lightening bolt scar. "I don't know how, or why, but Remus said I feel your magic and your life force because we are connected by a curse scar. They wont tell me anything else though."

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and suddenly a word forced its way from his throat, hissed in anger and disbelief. "Potter!" The child before him could not be one and the same with his nemesis. It wasn't possible. He could not lust after the child who had nearly destroyed him.

Harry merely nodded, before tilting his head to one side. Before either of them could speak again, Remus came running through the trees. "Harry!" He cried, "there you are. What are you doing out here alone? It's dangerous."

"No one would dare attack the Beloved. And anyway, they are dominating the omega again and I didn't want to watch or listen."

"They've finished now, come on. We'll see if he can teach you anything of use while my Liege is busy." He didn't even sense the presence of Voldemort, standing directly behind the ten-year-old. His hand moved forward, squeezed the child's shoulder once and pulled back in shock. He could touch the boy. He could feel. He was growing stronger.

Voldemort followed the two back to the clearing. He watched impassively as Quirrell trembled and winced with every movement. The Huntsmen had obviously not been gentle with him. As Remus opened his mouth to speak to the dead Professor, the Erlking sat up straighter in his throne and turned his shaded face towards them.

"Come here, beloved. Introduce your friend to me." Harry climbed obediently into the man's lap.

He watched Voldemort's spirit with wide eyes before grinning at him. "That's Lord Voldemort."

"Do you know who I am mortal?" Despite the fact that Voldemort didn't have very much in common with mortals at the moment. "Have you any idea." His bony fingers ran through Harry's hair. The boy pressed his face to the Erlking's chest, and pressed a kiss to the fabric. "My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"**1**

Harry giggled, but whispered the following line loud enough for the Dark Lord to hear. "Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!"**1** He looked at the Dark Lord as the man's eyes widened, and he tuned his face away from the Erlking's.

"The King of the Alders," he breathed to himself. None of the others could hear or see the spirit but the Erlking and his beloved. And Voldemort was grateful for that. No one should see the greatest Dark Lord to ever rise show submission to anyone or anything, even if it was to Audenarde. "Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives,"**1** he whispered to himself and Harry laughed.

"Look, he knows the poem. Can he stay, please?" He looked up at the Erlking with begging eyes and the man bent to place a kiss to the child's lips.

"He has his own mission in life. Even I do not dare to tempt the wrath of the Fates, my beloved." Harry pouted in disappointment, and Voldemort felt a thrill go through him at the thought that Harry wanted him around. "You would like him, wouldn't you?" The Erlking hissed, enraged. "To touch and taste and tease, wouldn't you?" The Dark Lord, cleverly, did not agree nor disagree. He kept his head bowed; his eyes though, were fixed on Harry.

The Erlking continued to speak. "It is always the same. I find a beloved and I love him, and he is beautiful. But in time he must die, and become just another soul for my pleasure. There is nothing special about him, nothing beautiful or beloved. And so, I have learnt from my mistakes. He shall be my beloved until he is no longer safe in life. His life will be hard, and full of danger and fighting, and if he should die as my beloved I will not grieve like I would wish to. However, if he should leave me, my beloved boy, I will miss him and grieve him and continue to love him.

"If you offer me enough, I may grant him to you upon his 16th birthday, if my beloved agrees. Then he will be yours to love and he will be beautiful and beloved, and in his death, you may still grieve him, and he will once more belong to me."

The Dark Lord looked up, his eyes meeting the stunning green ones set in a pale, round face. The eyes were smiling, and so Voldemort nodded his head in agreement. "I have many followers. If you could help me find a way to contact them, I will order them to find you people, souls, and gather them for you. I will bring the prisoners to Harry turns sixteen."

"Agreeable, on the condition that the souls are pure."

"Light sided children then?" Voldemort smirked. It would be much easier an order for his followers to carry out if the children kidnapped were not friends of their families.

"And adults. Our hunger does not discriminate against age."

"All the better for me," the Dark Lord murmured and dipped into a very brief bow. He swept towards Harry, quickly catching the lips in a kiss, before disappearing from sight, leaving a bemused beloved boy, and the Erlking whose lap the child sat in.

Remus frowned, unable to believe that the murder of his best friend had just practically bought his surrogate godson. Quirrell was hopeful that, if there were more misfits, there would be more omegas and he wouldn't bare the brunt of the Huntsmen's lust and rage. The Huntsmen, themselves, watched, having caught most of the conversation, and they cheered when the Erlking nodded. A feast like no other would celebrate their beloved's coming of age. And all would rejoice with them, or tremble in fear by their feet.

Harry merely turned his head and demanded a kiss. The Erlking's hand slipped inside the waistband of the black suede trousers, and Harry let out a delighted mewl. His head thrown back in pleasure, the Erlking whispered promises in his ear, of pleasures to come when the boy was older and of the delights of other men. And Harry nodded and mewled and swore his love from the creature beneath him, and Remus had to look away in disgust as Harry arched his back and orgasmed. He was unsure whether to cry "Audenarde" or "Voldemort" so he bit his lip and muffled a moan against the Erlking's shoulder.

The Erlking knew, and in jealousy, his hand squeezed the boy's cock until Harry gasped in pain. "For now, you belong to me beloved." His head tilted to one side, a lock of hair falling from his hood. Harry tucked it back in as his cock was released. A hand caressed the child's face lightly, before clamping around his jaw and turning to face towards his. "And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."**1**

**XXX**

**3** Canis – Latin word for dog or canine. Canis Demonata is what I'm calling the Hounds, or demon dogs.

**1** The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - http:// www . cs . rice . edu / ssiyer /minstrels /poems /920 . html

**Words: **

**Chapter 7**

**Resurrection**

COMING SOON…

Bare in mind, that Quirrell was the one who found Voldemort in Albania, and Quirrell is dead now.

Thanks for reading, as always… I wouldn't go on without you.


	7. Resurrection

In no way did I ever mean to insinuate that Draco was meant to replace Harry as the 'beloved'. Just to clear it up, Draco was intended to be a friend to Harry, because he is close to Severus – and Severus was meant to be Harry's teacher but then they both went to Hogwarts, and the Erlking found Remus anyway. 

Sorry for the delay. I've had a stressed couple of weeks since the last update – and my fingers don't seem to want to type! I do believe I am getting sick. My entire family is dying from something, bar my 16-year-old brother and myself, and I am convinced I'm slowly succumbing to its evil effects. I'm so tired! And dizzy, and my eyes hurt and I'm fucking freezing! 

And – I forgot to put a warning on the previous chapter (even though I have warnings for the whole story), so whoever complained should just move on with their life. 

**Words: ** 3,476

**Chapter 7**

**Resurrection**

May 1992

Snow White has always been remembered as the fairest maiden in the land. Skin as pale as snow, lips as red as roses and hair as black as ebony. A stunning young woman to be sure, but there was another in the tale that rivalled her beauty, at least a little. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? Yes, her beauty was rivalled but not surpassed. She may have been more striking than her stepmother, however Snow White's beauty paled in comparison to the looks of a certain beloved boy. 

Snow White was beautiful, all right, 

But Harry is a far prettier sight. 

It had been more than a year since he had seen the boy. Such a long time to have to wait before laying his eyes once more on near perfection. The child, like a botticeli angel, or a painting by Michelangelo, was perfectly beautiful and alluring. His eyes, the colour of envy and death, shone so bright they seared the very soul of any who dare to look at him. Hair as black as night, darker than the magic that coursed through Voldemort's very being. And his skin, to pale and soft to the touch, would blush a faint pink across his cheeks as he was pleasured at the hands of the Erlking. The boy was short for his age, but that was all the better because it meant that Harry would fit perfectly, seated in the Dark Lord's lap. 

He was so close to achieving his first goal. So very close to having a body of his own. His own hands, to touch Harry with, his own lips with which to kiss the boy, and his own – 

He shook the thought from his head, fixing his mind on the task at hand. The Erlking had found a way to contact Lucius Malfoy, and had ordered the blond to allow the circulation of Tom Riddle's old school diary, which Lucius had in his possession for safekeeping. The blond had been terrified at first. Draco had been secreted off to Hogwarts a whole year early to protect him from the Dark Faerie, and with the boy safe the Malfoy's had no reason to believe the Huntsmen would bother them again. However, one evening in 1991 Lucius came home from the Ministry to find his dining room filled with a thick, choking fog that swirled and curled up and around his legs, hiding his lower body from view. 

His wife, sat at her place at the dining table, her hands trembling as she lifted a goblet to her lips. The red wine dribbled down the side of the cup and onto her dress. It was not the only stain on her. Lucius narrowed his eyes, trying to see what had distressed his wife so. What he saw made his heart jump. 

"Good evening, Lord Malfoy." A voice, from the chair at the head of the table, caressed his ear and Lucius automatically lowered himself into a small bow. "A great pleasure to meet you." 

Narcissa continued to tremble, and Lucius' wide eyes met hers before turning his gaze onto the chest of the Erlking – he did not dare look upon the creatures face. 

"How is your son? Enjoying his first year?" Lucius couldn't make himself answer. His mouth moved, but there was no sound. It was as if someone had wrapped his or her hand around his throat, slowly cutting off the ability to talk and breathe. "Never mind." Audenarde took a sip from his own goblet, then swirled the blood around in his mouth a little before swallowing. "Your Lord requests your services, Lord Malfoy." 

That seemed to snap Lucius out of his stupor, because he gave another bow and cleared his throat. "How may I be of service, my Liege?" 

The Erlking rotated his hand, causing the blood in the goblet to swirl and nearly spill over the edges. The fog that held Lucius prisoner eased somewhat, and the blond made his way to the table and sat beside his wife. Narcissa still shook with fear. Only when he had sat down did he notice the small being directly opposite his wife – in his son's seat. The boy had dark hair, lily-white skin with a tint of pink over his cheeks, and a wide smile on petal pink lips. His head reached just over the top of the high table, making him a few inches shorter than Draco at eleven-years of age. The boy grinned widely at him, before reaching for the goblet in front of him, needing two hands to bring the cup to his lips. 

"Ah, how remiss of me. Allow me to introduce to you my beloved." Harry's smiled widened a fraction if that were even possible, and then his attention was stolen by some wine, sloshing out of the goblet and onto his bare chest. He pouted, and with that expression on his face, he looked more of a child than Draco ever did. And Lucius felt great pity for the child who should be at the mercy of such a monster, of such a creature.

"Your Lord wishes you to allow a certain black book to fall into the hands of certain people. I would complete his orders as soon as the occasion arises, Lord Malfoy." The Erlking cautioned, pushing back his chair and rising fluidly. 

Harry lifted his arms and allowed the Erlking to lift him from the chair and into the man's arms. Harry's legs locked around Audenarde's waist, his hands around the long neck, his hands hidden inside of the black cowl to tangle in the creature's dark hair. He looked at Lucius and smiled again. "Voldemort may be a merciful Lord, but he is not a patient man." The beloved turned his face to the Erlking's neck and nuzzled against the hollow between neck and shoulder. In a flurry of rising fog and wind, the two dark figures disappeared. Narcissa Malfoy finally allowed herself to throw the goblet away from her and at the nearest wall, before sliding from her seat to the floor, sobs wracking her body. 

Lucius had done what he was told. Upon meeting the Weasley's while shopping for Draco's second year school supplies, he had slipped the diary into the cauldron of the youngest Weasley child. Ginny had been none the wiser until she discovered it while unpacking her trunk at Hogwarts. But she didn't tell anyone. It didn't look dangerous, and when she wrote in it, someone wrote back and she was convinced she had made her first friend. And so, on it went, Ginny and the spirit of Tom Riddle communicated for most of the year, until now, when unaware of her own actions Ginny had opened the Chamber of Secrets again. This time, though, she was not unleashing a monster on the school. This time, she was trapping herself within. 

She was leaving herself at the mercy of Lord Voldemort. Who, despite his protests to the opposite, was not really merciful at all. 

And so, Voldemort found himself hovering in the Chamber of Secrets, his feet mere millimetres above the ground, pacing to and fro as a red haired girl came into view. She left the anti chamber and the stonewall slid shut behind her, trapping her. She walked jerkily towards the spirit of the Dark Lord, a black diary clutched in her pale, shaking hands. Her brown eyes met those of the disembodied Lord, before they rolled back in her head and she slumped to the ground, her head making a dull thump as it cracked off the hard floor. Voldemort watched, and waited, as his Horcrux grew stronger and stronger. Soon Tom Riddle was strong enough to maintain a form of his own, glowing slightly but standing alone, unaided, nonetheless. His eyes met those of Lord Voldemort's and widened. Before he could react, the Dark Lord flew at him, their souls merging together, as the body of Tom trembled and shuddered. 

The shallow breathing of Ginny Weasley stopped the moment Tom Riddle opened his blood red eyes and sat up, his body no longer convulsing. 

Lord Voldemort laughed. His cold, high pitched, cackle echoed off the high stone ceilings, caressing his own ears and making the water pooled at his feet ripple. He laughed more, and louder, celebrating the ability to laugh. He was able to laugh now, after so long of being denied the simplest of pleasures. He could touch, and kiss, and kill again. 

And he was desperate to lay his brand new eyes on the almost twelve-year-old Harry Potter. His soon-to-be botticeli angel, his very own work of art. The Erlking's beloved boy, in four more years, would be all his. 

But first, he knew, he would have to find his wand, and gather his followers around him again. There was much work to be done, and he would accomplish nothing laughing like a lunatic in the Chamber of Secrets while fantasising about lily-white skin and rose bud lips, (as pleasing as the image was). 

Voldemort allowed a smirk to settle upon his lips as he took from the dead girl her wand. His own, innate magic battled with the wand core, forcing it to change and adapt to better suit Voldemort's needs. When the wand gave off a low, powerful hum, Voldemort was satisfied. It would do, for now. Fortunately he knew exactly where to find one of his loyal servants. The self same servant who was in possession of Voldemort's cherished Yew wand. With a smirk, he waved the stolen wand and felt his body shrinking and his hair growing longer. He did not change his gender, there was no need, he merely wanted to pass for the girl, and not to be her. With slow, measured steps he made his way back to the anti chamber, and the haunted girls bathroom. He walked slowly, unused to the shortness of the girl's legs. He had always been tall as a child, and then as an adult. 

The Basilisk was awake, and following him through the plumbing. The king of snakes would lead him to Gryffindor Tower, where he was let inside without even being asked for the password. He supposed even the portraits were happy to have Ginny Weasley back from the Chamber alive, especially after Dumbledore found the message Tom Riddle left them. 

Voldemort made his way to the boy's dormitory, climbing the spiralling staircases one by one until at least he found the second years. Ronald Weasley was sleeping soundly in his bed; on the one side of him laid a half-blood and a Mudblood, on the other, a pureblood slept, beside an empty bed. The bed was no doubt meant for Harry Potter. 

On the bedside table next to the Weasley boy, sat a small glass cage, inside of which slept a rat with one toe missing. Voldemort tapped the cage with the stolen wand, and Wormtail jumped awake at once. The cage opened, and Wormtail scurried out of it, he dropped to the floor, where he changed back into a human. He clutched his left arm in pain, falling onto his knees before the red haired girl. 

"My Lord?" He asked hesitantly, head bowed. When he finally dared look up, he noticed he was staring at the Weasley girl, whose eyes were now a dark garnet red that sparkled, the moonlight casting them as the colour of blood before they darkened again. He gasped, "'And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor.'"**3** Peter Pettigrew trembled before the form in front of him. 

"Poetry, how droll." He sneered, the look very out of place on Ginny's face. "Give me your arm, Wormtail." The wizard complied hurriedly. Voldemort pressed the dead girl's wand to the man's Dark Mark, which writhed and pulsed with magic causing Wormtail to gasp in pain. "Fetch my wand, then apparate to Malfoy Manor." Wormtail ducked his head, scurrying backwards on his knees before standing and opening Ronald's trunk. From a secret compartment that the red head probably didn't know existed, he pulled forth the wand. Voldemort took it, caressing it reverently, before allowing Wormtail to place Ginny's wand in its place. 

"My Lord," Wormtail bowed once more before touching his fingers to his Dark Mark and allowing the magic within it to act as a Portkey. The Dark Lord wanted to meet at Malfoy Manor, so that was where Wormtail's Dark Mark brought him. 

He was met by many other shocked, but excited, followers. Two of which were Malfoys. But Severus Snape was missing. 

_XXX_

The Dark Lord had sent word to the Erlking. He had borrowed the owl of the Mudblood who shared a room with the Weasley boy. He did not care either way if the owl returned or not. More than likely, though, the Erlking would pick the creature's bones clean. Upon arriving in the great hall of Malfoy Manor, a room that every old establishment had, he was greeted with bows and hesitant cheers. His followers who were free had lied and cheated and denounced him to the world, but he could forgive them because as long as they were loyal in their hearts, it meant less people to free from Azkaban. 

"My followers, those loyal to me and those loyal to the cause, I welcome you together once more. It has been many years, my faithful, and in that time, much has changed and much has come to pass. In the last war, we had enemies and we had allies. The same will be said this time around. However, we have a very important advantage over the Light side." 

His followers looked captivated, hanging off of his every word. Voldemort allowed a smirk to settle on his lips, and some of his followers flinched at the sight. "Upon his sixteenth birthday, the Boy-Who-Lived will be joining our side. However, in this world, no one gets something for nothing. In return, I have pledged your services to the King of the Alders. You will, in time, have to gather children and adults, our enemies, light sided only, and on July 31st 1996 we will bring them before the Erlking and celebrate the coming of age of Harry Potter."

"My Lord?" One of the Death Eaters mumbled. He waved his hand, allowing the Wizard to speak. "The Erlking, he has been here before. He brought with him a child. Was it Potter?" 

"Lucius," Voldemort drawled. "You are slippery indeed to have escaped not only Azkaban, but the Erlking as well. I commend you, my friend." He allowed himself a small chuckled before schooling his features into one of blank indifference. "It may well have been. Actually, it is more likely, as the Erlking only has one beloved at a time." 

"'Dost thou not hear the words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?'"**1** One Death Eater breathed, almost unable to believe that such a creature could exist. Soon he was writhing on the floor, held under the Cruciatus for not remaining silent in Voldemort's presence. The Dark Lord brushed his short black hair from his eyes and surveyed his followers with red eyes that were narrowed. 

"This summer, you will collect a vial of blood from each of your children and when I summon you next, you will come directly with the vial on your person." 

"Yes my Lord," the whispered together, unsure whether following orders would be in the best interests of the child or not, but none willing to risk their own safety at present, to ask. "For protection purposes of course," Voldemort added with a smirk, as if reading some of their minds. 

He dismissed them. With a raised eyebrow he watched Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy talk. Hesitantly, they offered him a room in their Manor, which he accepted, ungraciously as if the room had belonged to him long before Lucius had any claim over it. And in a way he did. Lucius' father had been Voldemort's servant long before the Manor was in Lucius' name. 

_XXX_

August 1992. 

The Death Eaters felt their Marks burning, just as an owl swept through the skies, dropping a piece of parchment by the Erlking's foot. The owl left again, before it could be caught, and Ramon, dressed in mermaid scales, bent to pick the parchment up. Handing it to the Erlking, he took a step back, bowing slightly in the twelve-year-olds direction. 

The Erlking read it quickly, before holding it in Harry's face. "Show me," he ordered, and Remus Lupin watched on fearfully to see if Harry had learnt the spell they had been practising. If the spell failed, it would undoubtedly be Remus' fault, not Harry's. Harry blinked once and the parchment caught fire. The flames spread from one end to the other, burning the Erlking's spindly fingers, but the creature did not feel any pain. He let the parchment drop, it turning to ashes as it fluttered to the ground, before he bestowed a proud kiss to the beloved's pursed lips. 

"Come, the Dark Lord is ready for us." The Huntsmen gathered around the Erlking, creating a semi-circle behind him, curving in towards him, shielding him. The beloved sat in front of him on their shared Thestral, while Galhar, Morfis and Ramon were seated on their Thestrals directly behind him, but in front of the others. Remus would not be going, and Quirrell wasn't in any state to go anywhere after last night. 

As the fog rose to cover them, they charged, the Thestrals galloping and the Huntsmen racing behind them, the Canis closing in, before outstripping the steeds. When they arrived at the Forbidden Forest, a fairly large group of black cloaked being waited for them. They all wore masks, either silver or bone white, but the Erlking could still feel – if he couldn't see – their shock, fear and amazement as it crashed over their features at the sight of him. 

One of the Death Eaters gasped, seeming to sway on his feet, before another's hand came out to steady him. "'I met Murder on the way - He had a mask like Castlereagh - Very smooth he looked, yet grim; seven blood-hounds followed him.'"**4** He whispered to his companion and Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Everyone seemed to be quoting poetry all of a sudden. It was rather tiresome. 

His low spoken words made no difference to the Erlking or the Huntsmen, all of whom heard. Harry's voice, however, was the one that answered. "'All were fat; and well they might be in admirable plight, for one by one, and two by two, He tossed them human hearts to chew.'**4**" His head turned, previously his face has been hidden by the Erlking's cloak, but now the Death Eaters could look upon it, and on the scar the marred the boy's pale forehead. They gasped and whispered to one another; eyes wide, only now starting to believe that their Lord may one day have a claim on the Boy-Who-Lived. 

"Ye of little faith," the Erlking said with a small chuckle, his hand running through Harry's hair, the vines on his fingers knotting and tugging the locks but Harry didn't protest the discomfort. Instead he leaned in closer, butting his head off of Audenarde's palm. "Have you the blood?" His question was addressed to the Dark Lord who answered with a nod. 

One by one, the parents of children at Hogwarts, or younger, went forward offering their vial of blood to the Erlking. None would look upon his face, but Harry. Harry uncapped each of the vials one at a time and poured the contents onto the floor. The Canis Demonata growled and fought; vying with each other for every precious drop that Harry had spilt. When all of the vials were empty, the Erlking clapped his hands and the Canis' fell still. 

"Those you have sampled are not available. Should you encounter them, they are to be left alone." The hounds whimpered, cowering at their master's words, before they began to yip loudly, realizing he had yet to become angry with them. But the Erlking considered them warned. 

The Death Eaters were dismissed, and the Huntsmen returned to the Lodge. All that remained were Voldemort, the Erlking and their beloved. Voldemort savoured the few interrupted moments he had to drink in the boy's beauty. Since his birthday, he seemed to have grown. He would never be as tall as the 16-year-old Lord was, however, he wouldn't be too short either. Voldemort smiled softly at the child: he would be perfect. A masterpiece worthy of the finest painters, an art work that put their own to shame.

And soon, he would be Voldemort's alone. 

**XXX**

**3** The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, the final stanza. 

**1** The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - http/ www . cs . rice . edu / ssiyer /minstrels /poems /920 . html

**4** The Mask of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley, 2nd and 3rd stanzas. 

Explanation (requested by so many, even though I replied individually as well) as to why the Erlking is giving Harry to Voldemort. 

Harry is the Beloved; he is special to the Erlking because he is alive. When Harry grows up, the Erlking knows that, as the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry will have to fight, and possibly die in a war. If Harry dies, he is dead. He won't be alive anymore, and so he wont be special to the Erlking – who is surrounded by the dead. 

Therefore, the Erlking will not grieve for Harry's death. He will take Harry as one of his own, to be a Huntsman, or if Harry displeases him in death, food. Which the Erlking does not want, as he does care for Harry. 

So, in the Erlking's mind, if he should lose Harry but the boy remain alive, then he may grieve and remember Harry, as he should wish to. As opposed to forgetting Harry in death, and either way he is free to find another beloved. If Voldemort has Harry, then Harry remains the Erlking's beloved (for he is not dead) and the Erlking can let him go and live. And, if Harry should still die, the Erlking will still own his soul, and he will be one more dead boy – but he will be remembered as Beloved in life. 

Did anyone understand? It turned into an epic… 

Thank you for reading, yet again. I don't know what else to say except…. "Adversity makes men, and prosperity makes monsters. - Victor Hugo"! Review! 


	8. Learning Experience

I am so PISSED OFF!

We were given an exam (set in March) for Monday 31st March. We had two topics to cover, and one question to answer out of the two topics. On Monday we asked if the test could be put back a little. So we were meant to do it on weds 2nd April.

On Monday she asked us if we were revising the THREE topics… and we said no.

Today – I revised for one topic btw cause I left it too late to do both – in the exam… the topic (a choice out of two) I revised did NOT come up.

How does that work? We weren't told about the question that did come up!!

So… I spent the hour decorating my paper… Sarah did hardly anything, cause she revised the same topic as me, same as another girl. The Interpretation of Legislation. And now I am so PISSED OFF!

Enjoy the chapter.

**Words: **3,718

**Chapter 8**

**Learning Experience**

August 1993.

The haunting strains of "Lonely Satie"**5** filled the forest. The notes rising and falling with each keystroke, lifting high, the sound carried in the wind, entwining itself in the hair of those standing around. Their ears were caressed by the sad melody, and their bodies began to sway, side-to-side, snakelike, as Faun began to hum along. His body mirrored their movements, his eyes closed as he hummed, his lips pressed tight.

From her place on the floor by his feet, Aduro, the singer, watched. Her fingers moved swiftly across the organ in front of her. The instrument shimmered out of sight before reappearing again. It was conjured from fog and mist. It swirled, wanting to be free, and swallowed up her fingers. At each note, the mist settled down, only to rebel again as it waited for its key to be struck once more. Harry continued to hum.

The song changed. Aduro flicked back her long red hair, and began to play a different song. "Sing, this time," she whispered, her voice as musical as the notes she produced from the organ before her.

The music started slowly, but loud, the tone low, then rising higher before the words were to start. Harry watched her as he sang. "A valley green was so serene, in the middle ran a stream so blue. A maiden fair, in despair, once had met her true love there and she told him, she would say 'promise me, when you see a white rose you'll think of me. I love you so, never let go, I will be your ghost of a rose'**6**." The music cut out.

Aduro began to clap. When she started, the others in the clearing seemed to snap out of their daze. They shook their heads, clearing away thoughts of possessing and pleasing the singing siren in front of them. And they too, all began to clap. No one, however, clapped as loud as the Erlking.

"Excellent, my Beloved. You are improving." Harry smiled up at him: for even seated the Erlking still towered above the thirteen-year-old boy. "You almost had me entranced like the others." He smiled, tilting his head back just enough for his hood to fall back slightly, revealing the grinning mouth full of sharp teeth. It was not an insult. In fact, it went to show how well Harry was doing if he was very close to mentally seducing the Erlking himself, the very master of mind games and deception. "Once more, Beloved, then we shall move on."

As Harry sang again, he closed his eyes and willed the magic inside of him to accompany the words from his mouth and follow them towards those surrounding him. Much like the Imperious, his magic burrowed its way into the subconscious of the Huntsmen, finding purchase, and hanging on tightly. Then, like the Unforgivable, it bade them to do its masters bidding. Harry wanted them to submit.

And as he wanted it, they did it. As one, they all fell to their knees, their faces pressed to the ground and their arms thrown in front of them, fingers stretching towards the siren whose magic commanded them. Harry's attention fell to the Erlking, as they all, even the fellow siren Aduro, prostrated themselves before him. The King of the Alders sat upon his throne of human bones and skin and smirked as Harry walked towards him, hips swaying and still singing the words to the song Aduro had been playing.

"Submit to me," his magic whispered, and the Erlking tilted his head back to let the magic wash over him, but he did not give in.

When Harry could best the Erlking, his lesson was complete, until then, he had to practise over and over. Not best as in defeat, but rather when the Erlking decided Harry was proficient enough to almost beat him, then Harry had completed that portion of the training.

Harry continued to sing, his magic begging the Erlking to "come towards" him, to only just "get off the throne". But the Erlking would not. He pushed his own magic back, choking Harry with the power and the demand to give up. Faun let out a sob; the Erlking's siren magic was like a hand whose fingers were closing tightly around his own throat, suffocating him. He wanted to give up, wanted to give in, to allow the Erlking to win and to be able to breath again, but a part of him wanted to win. He wanted to, not just be good enough, but to be brilliant. He closed his eyes, breaking contact with the Erlking's own eyes. He sang louder, putting more force, more magic, into his words. His hands clenched into fists beside him as he stepped closer to the Erlking.

The other's magic had stopped choking Harry by now, more than likely afraid to kill him. And, moments later, unbelievably, the Erlking stood up from his throne. A small smirk played on the Erlking's lips as he allowed Harry to believe he had won, but really, Audenarde had stood up of his own wishes, not the commands of the teenage Wizard before him. The second Audenarde moved to stand, Harry allowed himself to fall forward. His knees hit the floor with the crack of twigs and rustle of leaves, and with a sigh, the boy toppled sideways, unconscious.

He had done well enough to control even the strongest of Occlumens. But, more importantly, he had done brilliantly in ensuring that he would be able to control the feeble minded among the Wizards. And Harry had wanted to do brilliantly after all.

It was time to move on to a new lesson.

January 1994.

Presul swayed her hips, her arms flying out to the sides as she twirled around and around in circles. Her blond hair usually fell in neat ringlets to her waist, but they swung wildly with her movements. Harry watched her, enthralled, as her movements captivated the eyes and attentions of everyone present. Even her father watched on as the Succubus danced.

Like with any type of magic, or skill, enough practise and time spent around those who are efficient will lend their ability to almost anyone. And Harry had been years with the Erlking and his Huntsmen. Their magic had intertwined with his, so he was now no longer only a Wizard, but so much more than that. He had the ability to be Siren, Wizard, Succubae, and Hunter at the once. The Erlking made sure that his Beloved would learn all that he could learn, if only to afford some sort of protection against those that would seek to harm his mythical Faun.

When Presul's movements halted, she held her hand out and Harry placed his in her own. Since August they had been practising alone, but now, now Presul thought Harry proficient enough to demonstrate before them all. He swallowed heavily and waited until Aduro was ready to play their music. Most Succubae could dance to their music of their own magic, of their own heart, but for beginners it was only fair to give them a beat to sway to.

Harry rotated his hips once, allowing his magic to leave, instead of through Remus' wand or his own words, through his body. With every twist of his hips, his magic rocketed around him like a hula-hoop, sparks of power shooting out in all directions towards the Huntsmen. His arms went up over his head, one leg came up bent at the knee, and his foot pressed to his other leg as he twirled in a circle. His hair flew into his face as he stopped suddenly. His arm snapped forward, fingers crooked at one Huntsman. The man in question stepped forward, his arms outstretched. As the fingers went to entangle themselves into Harry's black hair the boy smirked and stopped moving. He man's arms fell straight down, and he shook his head from side to side, feeling suddenly weighed down or stuffed with straw. With a yawn, he stepped backwards, out of range of the Beloved.

Another, however, took his place, this one much more forceful, because Harry had started dancing again, quicker though. He danced around the Huntsman, and the hunter reacted quicker than Harry expected. Suddenly finding himself pinned to the ground by a dazed but very aroused Huntsmen, sort of sucked the fun out of seducing people with body language. He squeezed his eyes shut. Shivering slightly, for he was not wearing very much, and what he was wearing the Huntsman was trying to remove, Harry pushed against the chest above him. Suddenly, the frantic grabbing those hands were doing still, and the gasping and panting above him stopped. Something wet and warm splashed across his face, but Harry was afraid to open his eyes.

Rape was something, while aware of, he had not had to face. And willing sex was also something he was not familiar with, because while the Erlking liked to touch him, he was not so fond of spoiling the innocence of youth. Unsure of what to expect he kept his eyes closed, even when he found his hands unpinned, and his body lifted into the air by strong, familiar arms.

"Open your eyes, Beloved," a voice whispered by his ear, locks of hair falling from the Erlking's hood to tickle the teenagers cheek. "You are safe, I promised no harm would come to thee."

"I'm sorry." Harry whispered. His mouth opened and closed with his words, pressed tight against the skin of the Erlking's neck, so he could feel as well as hear the words spoken.

"It is not you who should be at fault. I should have put a stop to your show earlier. While my rage was great, I should have been more merciful. He was not at fault either. If you had turned your charm on me, I would have had you pinned at my mercy also." Harry blushed hotly, and the Erlking laughed, because while he could not see the colour of Harry's cheeks, he could feel the hotness against his neck and feel the boy's emotions. "Tempting men into bed is not something you need magic to achieve my beloved. I believe we shall call an end to this lesson."

Harry only opened his eyes when the Erlking seated himself upon his throne with Harry securely in his lap. His face was wet with blood, he could taste it on his tongue, and it made his hair and clothing sticky. His eyes sought out the source of the blood, and found the Hounds chewing on the body of the Huntsman who allowed himself to react far too strongly to Harry's magical seduction.

The man's head was being thrown back and forth by the Erlking's three beta's, in a sadistic game of piggy in the middle. The Erlking chuckled, and in reply, Morfis threw the head towards him smiling. The Erlking, rather than catch it with his hands, leant forward and allowed the head to impale itself on one of his very sharp, curved horns. Harry tried very hard not to scream as pieces of brain splashed him in the face, as blood continued to drip down on him.

The Erlking's fingers tangled through his hair, the briars pulling strands up by the root, and Harry endured it, because he knew it was his punishment for attempting to seduce anyone who was not Audenarde, even though he was told to for the practise. But still, powerful men experience powerful emotions, the most powerful sometimes being jealousy. So Harry allowed the punishment to continue, shuddering in disgust as an eyeball landed in his lap, and the Erlking continued to smear brains into his hair with every painful caress.

October 1994.

Hogwarts was celebrating All Hallows Eve and there was much laughter and joy to behold, as well as an unhealthy amount of sweet things to eat. Lucius Malfoy sat beside Professor Snape at the head table as he had done for every year since Draco had begun Hogwarts. Most people believed he was actually doing as he said, keeping the school safe on behalf of the Ministry and Board of Governors. Others believed he was spying for You-Know-Who, even though the Ministry didn't believe Voldemort had returned, nor that he had anything to do with the disappearance of the youngest Weasley – for no one could find her body to prove she was dead. And there were a handful of Light sided children who believed that Lucius Malfoy's presence meant he had sided with Dumbledore.

In fact, his presence was on the order of Voldemort, and the Erlking both. They wanted someone keeping an eye on the children of the Dark side to make sure none of them spoke about anything their parents may or may not have told them. And, the Dark Lord also wanted someone scouting for Light sided sacrifices. There were less than two years left before Harry Potter joined Voldemort.

Any new Death Eaters to be marked had owled vials of their children's blood to 'Harry Potter, unknown address', but their owls never returned. The Dark Lord assured them that Harry had gotten the messages, but he had no reason – his followers would like to hear – as to why the owls were disappearing.

Lucius still found it surprising that only a handful of children were requested. The Erlking insisted on names for the most part, and wanted to hunt the Witches and Wizards down himself. Because, as he claimed, the chase was the best part. Three or four would be enough to appease him after relinquishing his beloved to Voldemort.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy lorded over those younger and older than him, reigning over his peers like a Malfoy was expected to do. He smirked instead of smiled, snorted with amusement instead of laughing uproariously, and his eyes narrowed at any insult, mentally keeping track of names and faces, instead of jumping up and hexing them in front of so many teachers. As he spoke, the Slytherins listened, and it was a good thing that the teachers couldn't hear or his father would be most disappointed in his heir.

"The Dark Lord is living with us," he boasted, and most of the Slytherins sighed in envy. "We're waiting for something, I'm sure it's not that important, but I heard them saying – the Dark Lord and my father, I mean – that soon Harry Potter will be living with us too."

"Really?" Pansy Parkinson asked, eyes wide, short blond hair tucked behind her ears. "I hear my father say Potter was beautiful." A few girls sighed.

Theodore Nott, a dark haired, sour looking boy frowned. "Is he on our side? Or will he be living in your dungeons?" A small chuckle rose form most of the students within hearing distance.

"If he is on our side, do you think I could ask father to make him marry me?" Pansy asked again, ignoring the glare Draco was shooting her.

"I hear," Blaise Zabini spoke up. His family were neutral, but he personally couldn't wait to be old enough to be a Death Eater. "That Potter will be the Dark Lords consort." The girls who had sighed earlier, now groaned in disappointment.

"Surely our Lord could do better than Potter?" Millicent Bulstrode, a rather large girl, with a rather large attitude problem, spat. A few people glared at her for insinuating that their Lord was a bad judge of character – or a bad anything in fact.

But, before anyone could say anything, two shadows appeared across the table, and all eyes looked up toward Lucius and Severus. "May I enquire," Snape drawled in his sinful voice, "to what exactly are you referring?" A blond eyebrow rose on Lucius' face as his eyes met those of his son's. Draco blushed and looked away.

"Nothing, sirs." The younger ones chorused, while the elder ones lowered their eyes respectfully.

"Make sure it remains that way, are we clear?" They all nodded, as Snape's dark eyes bored into each of their own in turn.

After the adults had left the Great Hall, Severus whirled on Lucius. "You did not inform me of our Lords Return." The 'why' was left unspoken between the old friends.

Lucius smoothed down his robes before answering. "This is not the best place for a conversation of this nature, Severus." Snape nodded sharply and continued down the hallway, towards the dungeon. With a roll of his eyes, Lucius followed. When they had reached Severus' quarters and had warded the room against intruders, Lucius found himself looking down the end of Severus' wand.

"Does our Lord not trust me?" He asked, before clenching his jaw in anger. "I am loyal."

"It is not a question of your loyalty to him, that worries our Lord. Rather, he is concerned over your loyalty to Lily." Lucius said, his eyes shifting away from his long time friend.

"Surely he cannot believe I would harm the boy."

"He is not worried about harming, Severus." Snape's eyes narrowed, before widening in realization.

"Oh Merlin no. He does want to kill Harry doesn't he? He fears I'll protect him?" Severus' arm lowered, his wand tucked back into his pocket before his hand pressed against his heart. "No." He whispered at the thought of harm befalling Lily's son.

"He will – Severus listen to me. He will not harm Harry, I swear to you."

"So it is true. What they were saying?" His faced turned a shade or two paler. "He plans to take Harry as his catamite, then?" His gritted his teeth together in protest at the thought. Not while he lived and breathed would anyone force Lily's son into his or her beds.

"Consort, I believe was the word they used. You know full well that there is a difference." Lucius snorted at the look Severus shot him.

"A catamite is hardly willing." He agreed sourly. "So Harry knows?" Lucius nodded. "You've seen him? Is he well, hurt?"

Lucius sighed, much like the Slytherin girls at lunch. "If I were attracted to the less fair of sexes I would say he was stunning. As it is, I will merely say he looks well."

"He has escaped from the Erlking then?" Snape smirked at the thought. Lily's son had accomplished what Albus could not. Lucius opened his mouth to answer, but then remembered that Severus was not privy to the Dark Lords latest plans. "I swear on our friendship and on both my godchildren," Lucius frowned, "that this conversation will never reach the ears of Albus."

"No. He is still with the Erlking. In exchange for souls of members of the Light, Harry will be given to our Lord, by the Erlking on his sixteenth birthday."

"Less than two years away?" Severus breathed deeply, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. "When was this decided?"

"Almost four years ago, by what I have gathered. Around the time the Dark Faerie first appeared at the Manor." Lucius reached a hand out, and placed it lightly on Severus' shoulder. "Speak to our Lord, he will understand."

"And don't mention your name, correct?" Severus smirked. Lucius just nodded his head. Then he turned to the fireplace, and flooed home. Severus was left alone, to think about whom his allegiance really lay with. Voldemort, Dumbledore, or the son of a woman he had loved more than life?

March 1996. Norway.

When the Hunt rode, creatures of all kinds made sure to keep well out of the way. The wind rushed with them, raping fragile flowers as they trembled on vines, and rustling the leaves enough to shake them loose from their trees. In protest, the branches of trees groaned and swayed, trying to catch their fallen leaves. Twigs cracked beneath the hooves of the Thestrals and the paws of the Canis Demonata as they rode, side by side. Thestrals carried their Beta's and the Erlking, while the other Huntsmen ran behind them, arms raising their weapons high as they cried to one another, chasing down their unfortunate prey.

Usually, the prey was cornered, trapped between the beasts, both horse- and dog-like, and the humans. With fear stamped clearly across their faces, the prey would look upon the Erlking for mercy, and instead be struck down for daring to look upon the creature's nightmarish face.

Except, this time, when the baby Norwegian Ridgeback dragon looked upon the rider seated on the Thestral at the front, he did not see the Erlking. Instead, he lay eyes upon Faun, whose reddish brown hair hung down to his waist and blew in the wind, as the mist and fog picked up, swirling higher to hide the cloven feet and deer-legs from view. Hair hid his lower body, and he rode topless, a terrifying sight to behold, because from his head, sprouted two large curved horns, the ends filed sharp and dripping with the blood of their last prey.

The dragon let out a wail as, with a wave of one of Harry's hands in permission, the Huntsmen and the Canis launched themselves at the dragon. With teeth and with blade they tore the creature apart. The three beta's – Morfis, Galhar and Ramon – watched, with soft smiles of parents aware of how much their child has grown, as the dragons blood spattered across Faun's face and bare chest with every bite or slash or hacking motion. But he didn't stir, or grimace, as he once would have, for now, the beloved boy was a boy no longer. At fifteen, he was considered almost a man, and at last he had been allowed to lead his own Hunt.

Harry licked his lips, tasting the blood of the dragon, before his mouth curved up at the edges into a horrifying smile. His eyes bled from green to red as his fingers ran through the blood on his chest before he brought the to his mouth to suck on. He chuckled, deep in his throat the noise rumbled in his chest for a moment before bursting forth, and any animal that had hidden within the trees or the bushes surrounding them suddenly sprang first, running for their lives.

Harry licked his lips again.

His first Hunt alone, and it was delicious.

**XXX**

**5 **Lonely Satie – Michiru Oshima (Instrumental)

**6** Ghost of a Rose – Blackmore's Night

Coming Soon

**Words: **

**Chapter 9**

**The Trade Union**

Review or I may be forced to hang myself by my hair… which has grown far too long.


	9. The Trade Union

Hey all, sorry for the wait

Hey all, sorry for the wait.

I know, in _**Indelible 7**_ I said I wouldn't be posting till my exams were done, but oh well, I lied. I couldn't keep away.

Hope you all enjoy the chapter. And please read the AN at the very bottom thanks!

Important: FaUn is a mythical being with the legs of a deer and the torso of a human, with horns. A FaWn is a baby deer. Both of which are Harry's animagi forms. So no, Harry won't be keeping the horns, they were just to freak people out.

**Words: **3,652

**Chapter 9**

**The Trade Union**

May 1996.

It was a widely known fact that Lord Voldemort did not like to be disturbed. One did not simply waltz into Malfoy Manor and request an audience with the Dark Lord. They waited until their presence was demanded for. But Severus didn't have the time to wait. He needed to speak to his Lord now, and regardless of the consequences, he found himself knocking harshly on the door of the study, which Voldemort had claimed for himself.

The Malfoy house elf bowed once and popped out of sight as the door slowly creaked open. Severus had spent the past two months thinking over his conversation with Lucius. He had finally come to a decision.

"Severus," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes narrowed as he peered through the crack in the door. "Come in." The door inched opened with another creak, and Severus slipped inside before closing it behind him.

Usually the Dark Lord threw the door open, so it banged off the wall and caused his followers to cower. For the Dark Lord to be so secretive, there must be something very important going on inside of that study. Severus only hoped it was not so important to mean he had forfeited his life. With a gulp he raised his eyes and nearly cried out in fear as the red eyes that peered through the door met his. They weren't Voldemort's eyes; Voldemort was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair and smirking. The Erlking, however, was standing just in front of him, his teeth sticking out over his bottom lip. Severus took a step backwards and lowered his eyes.

"Severus Snape, a pleasure to meet you." The Erlking lowered his head very slightly, and in return Snape bent at the waist.

"The pleasure is all mine, Sir." Severus looked at his hands. They were clenched by his side, and they were trembling uncontrollably.

"He was my first choice, you know," The Erlking commented to Voldemort as if Severus was no longer standing there. "He, and the Malfoy boy. A pity that they both decided to hide from me at Hogwarts, is it not?"

"A grievous one, I'm sure." Voldemort replied, his eyes lingering on Severus' shaking hands.

"Malfoy, I had hoped, would be a good friend for Harry. But it mattered not. Lupin was a very good second choice." The Erlking waited for the Dark Lord to look up at him. "He will be accompanying Harry, you know. And the Huntsmen shall keep Quirrell."

"That is agreeable. So Lupin is not dead?" The Erlking merely shook his head.

"You do not seem yourself Marvolo." Audenarde whispered, and despite himself Severus strained his ears in the hope of hearing. "What troubles you?"

"Two months, there's two months left." Voldemort said, just as softly.

"Two months, yes, until my loss is your gain. And you cannot think of a way to welcome him?" The Erlking chuckled. "May I suggest his godfather?" With another chuckled, he called the mist to him, and allowed himself to be chocked by it. The mist surrounded him on all sides, shielding him and suffocating him. Severus began to cough as the mist swirled towards him and brushed over his face. He waved his arms, to clear the fog, to push it away from him. Almost as if it had never appeared, the mist was gone. And with it, was the Erlking.

"How is it, Severus, that you know of the Erlking in the first place?" Voldemort said it lazily, as if he was merely asking the time, but they way his eyes were narrowed promised Severus pain.

"He has Lily's son." And really, that was all the answer anyone who knew Severus would need.

"You were helping the old man rescue him?" Severus nodded. "And how do you feel now, that you've seen the Erlking here, with me?"

"I know, my Lord." He swallowed heavily, cleared his throat and started again. "I already know. In two months Harry will be free of the Erlking and he'll belong to you. To be honest, forgive me, but I am not happy about that. Nor was I happy that he was with the Erlking, nor was I happy when I learnt that Albus had left Lily's son with those evil Muggles. I will not be happy about any of this until I am sure Harry is happy."

"And you may find out in two months." Voldemort paused. "If your answer pleased me. Who are you loyal to?" He folded his arms over his chest and waited, anything but patient.

"Harry Potter, Lily's son. And by association, you, my Lord." Severus bowed at the waist again, paused in that position as if awaiting punishment, but when none came, he stood, and he went to leave the room.

Just before the door closed behind him, Voldemort said, "two months, Severus." Snape clenched his fists again. Just two more months, and he would be able to protect Harry if need be.

July 1996.

The Death Eaters shivered. It had started off as a warm night, but suddenly a fog had descended and with it, it had brought a biting cold and wind. The younger Death Eaters, especially the unmarked children of the Inner Circle, huddled together to stave off the cold. Every now and then, Voldemort's eyes would take in their surroundings, not searching for Dementors like some thought, but in fact searching for the slightest hint that the Erlking was following his trademark mist.

They were stood in a semi-circle, giving enough room for the Huntsmen to stand opposite them and complete the circle. Voldemort stood in the near centre, looking down on two Gryffindor boys who were bound and crying softly. Some of the teenagers flinched with every pitiful beg for mercy. It was one thing to torture random Muggles on a raid, but they had gone to school with Colin and Denis Creevey for six years.

"Please let us go, please, please!" The eldest boy, Colin, begged. He was a year above his brother.

In answer, the mist seemed to swirl. It snaked forward and surrounding the two boys who only started to cry louder. As everyone watched the fog dance, Thestrals emerged from the Forbidden Forest and into the clearing where the Death Eaters stood. Behind them, came the Huntsmen on foot. They took up their positions, completing the circle. When the fog died down, The Erlking was standing beside Lord Voldemort watching the two boys critically.

"They'll do for now."

"But we did say three or four." Another voice cut in. The throng of Death Eaters parted to let Faun through. His rust brown hair hung to his shoulders and he brushed it out of his eyes, careful not to cut his hand on either of his curved horns. His legs were bent and covered in rust coloured fur, and his feet were cloven. The only article he wore was a cloak made from the scales of a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon. It trailed across the ground behind him, and its hood was down, baring his horns to those present.

The look on Lord Voldemort's face was priceless. As the Dark Lord gaped at the horned boy, Severus and Lucius stepped forward and bowed simultaneously. "We have the address of a very Light sided family. You could bring one or two of them here now, and save the others for later if it pleased you?" Lucius said in a slightly bored drawl, all the while keeping his eyes lowered respectfully.

"You are a Faun." Voldemort whispered coming to lean over the boy.

Harry smirked, "that is my name, Marvolo." He took a step back and the Dark Lord's eyes followed him. Despite the fact that Harry looked nothing like he did the last time they had met, Voldemort still found himself attracted to the younger Wizard. With a mocking bow, Harry called the mist to him, commanding it to hide his nakedness as his legs changed back into those of a human, and the fur disappeared to leave him bare. He pulled the cloak in closer around his shoulders as the horns shrunk back into his head. His hair was black once again.

The mist settled, and the teenagers in the crowd gasped at the beautiful sight in front of them. Harry Potter truly was beautiful. "I am Faun, the Erlking's beloved. And soon, I suppose, I shall be yours Marvolo."

The two prisoners gasped at the sight before them, having caught sight of the lightening bolt scar. "You're Harry Potter! You have to help us!" Denis cried.

"Why?" Harry asked in all seriousness.

"Because," Colin stuttered, as the Death Eaters watched on amused, "because you're the Saviour. You're the good guy, the hero. You are meant to kill them."

"Please kill them." Denis whispered before sobbing when Harry merely smirked back at them.

With a chuckle Harry said, "It's too bad I'm not as wonderful a person as people say I am, because the world could use a few people like that."**7**

He turned away from them, and raised an eyebrow at Voldemort. The Dark Lord nodded and Lucius stepped forward again. The Erlking took the slip of parchment from the blond's hand. "The Burrow." He read out loud. "We only steal the souls of those who do not sleep as we pass by."

"They shall be awake." Voldemort promised. As he spoke five of his Death Eaters apparated away to the Burrow, intending to keep every body awake, but alive until the Huntsmen arrived.

"But before we leave." Harry looked hopeful, he was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet and so the Erlking nodded slowly. With a cruel grin, Harry turned to face the still begging older brother. He shouldn't know the spell he was about to use, but that didn't bother him. The Erlking had taught him, and no one could hide from the Erlking. Not themselves, nor their knowledge. "Sectumsempra!" He cried, his hand flung out in front of him, wandless. Colin's body flung backwards from the force of the spell, along with Denis' as they were still tied together. His chest split open and with a chuckle Harry watched as his hands clumsily tried to hold himself closed. Blood seeped past his shaking fingers, and he screamed as the Canis closed in around him.

"Untie them." Harry ordered. Shakily, Severus made his way hesitantly between the hounds and cast the cutting hex on the rope. He grabbed Denis by the collar and pulled him towards Lily's son. Harry was nothing like Severus expected him to be. He bowed, loyal to Lily's only child nonetheless, and left the trembling boy at his feet.

"Please no, please no," Denis whimpered as Harry straddled him. The dark haired boy began to hum, softly at first and then it grew louder. His body swayed slightly, side-to-side, hypnotized Denis' eyes followed his movements. A knife was placed in Denis' right hand. Harry stood up, and continued to hum as he watched Denis life the knife to his left elbow and begin to hack.

The boy screamed, not stopping as he continued to saw his left arm off. His eyes were wide with pain and terror, but his brain no longer controlled his actions. He was at the mercy of the Siren in front of him. Harry's smirk widened as the Erlking's delighted chuckled reached his ears. Audenarde threaded his fingers through Harry's hair, and pulled his head back, stealing one last kiss and freeing Denis from the thrall. The Erlking and some of his Huntsmen disappeared, finding their way to the Burrow.

Harry watched as Denis threw the knife at him, before picking up his severed left arm and screaming widely as he hugged the arm to his chest. "The blood loss will kill him soon. Or the Canis' will." He spoke to the remaining Huntsmen, who surged forward as one, and descended upon the screaming child.

Harry just watched, and smiled as he licked Denis' blood of the knife.

Two arms wrapped around his waist, and a body pressed against his from behind. But Harry didn't struggle or move away, instead he laughed and offered the knife back over his shoulder. "No thank you, my love," Voldemort whispered against his cheek.

"Our bargain is not yet complete, Marvolo. I am not yet your anything." Voldemort merely allowed his lips to twitch into a brief smile. But he did release the boy. However, he continued to stand behind him, their bodies flush.

"You will be mine soon enough."

"Hmm," Harry turned his head to face the Dark Lord, his cloak coming loose and completely revealing his nakedness to all those who had remained in the clearing. "But are you sure you can handle me?"

Voldemort chuckled in return. His body surged forward and he stole Harry's lips in a kiss, and stole his breath as well. Harry panted as they pulled back. "I am fairly confident." He smirked; his eyes alight with pride and desire. "I have a gift for you when we return."

"A collar? A lease?" Voldemort glared and then rolled his eyes. He didn't speak. "A surprise I guess." Before anymore could be said, Severus and Lucius approached the two bodies on the ground. The Huntsmen were once again standing in their semi-circle, and the Canis' were sitting obediently at their feet.

"Remove them, which ever way you like."

The word 'Incendio' was on the tip of both Wizard's tongues when Harry giggled. "Is there a way you can get them back into the castle? Into their beds?"

"Possibly." Severus nodded.

"Then hide them for the time being. If Audenarde brings some back with him, we will leave them all in their beds for the Headmaster to find, in his own time." Harry stepped away from Voldemort and sat on the forest floor in front of the Huntsmen. The Canis' descended upon him. They nuzzled his hands and his face, licked his legs and feet, curled up in his lap and tried to claw their way up his back to sit upon his shoulders. And the Beloved boy let them.

"There were only seven of them within the house when we arrived," a faceless Death Eater reported back. "The Twins arrived within moments however."

"Nine souls. Is our bargain complete?" Voldemort asked, his eyes straying towards Harry.

"Seven souls, and two bodies." Voldemort frowned. Understanding dawned as two of the Beta's stepped forward, each holding a struggling child. "Two more bodies, before our bargain is fulfilled." The Erlking promised with a smirk and a flash of eyeteeth.

Hermione Granger screamed as she caught sight of the Death Eaters and other creatures surrounding them. Ronald Weasley was still in shock. His entire family had been slaughtered in front of him, and the man wearing a cloak of Mermaid scales had held his head so he couldn't look away. All he had left was Hermione, and she was being held captive as well. He sniffled, they were supposed to be getting married at the end of next year, and this wasn't fair.

"There was another there." Harry noted softly, standing up and pushing the Canis' off of him. "Why did you not take her soul?"

Ramon, who held Ronald, smirked at the boy. "She was a Veela. They are neutral to this Wizard war."

"Very well." Audenarde said simply, and Ramon gave a relieved sigh. Morfis tightened his hold on the bushy haired girl who began to struggle wildly. "In which order my Beloved?"

"The girl first." He whispered, walking towards the struggling girl. His hands caressed her face as Morfis held her tightly. His eyes met Ron's and the boy began to curse and kick. "I want to break his heart before I break him."

Morfis threw the girl to the ground where she attempted to crawl away. But Harry's vice like grip around her ankle stopped her. Still wearing nothing but his dragon skin cloak, Harry allowed his horns to burst through his hair, until they were pointing threateningly towards the crying girl. His legs grew fur and curved as his toes fused together again. Faun looked down at Hermione. One hand knotted in her hair, and he let go of her ankle. He tugged her up, and she scrambled around so she was facing him. "Please don't do this."

"Don't do what?" His head tilted to one side.

"Please don't rape me," she whimpered, tears falling from her eyes. Harry let out a small chuckle.

"I don't rape." He grinned at her, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "But you'll still die. I plan to break his heart by breaking yours." She sobbed louder, her hands pressed to her mouth to stifle them. Her head shook from side-to-side as she silently begged to be let go.

His knife was back in his hand, and he straddled her, before pressing the tip of the blade to her shirt and cutting it open. Her hands slew to hide her chest and Harry frowned. "Don't move," he muttered, before he began humming under his breath. Hermione, much to her fear and annoyance, found that she could not move at all. Her eyes shifted left to right but her hands and feet wouldn't move, and she couldn't find the strength to buck the boy off of her. The knife trailed down her chest, between the valley of her breasts and then down lower to dip into her belly button.

He smirked at her, "this shouldn't hurt," he promised. Then he dug the knife into her chest, just above her heart, pressing harder on the blade and she shrieked in pain. He chuckled, "I never said it wouldn't hurt you." He shrugged as paid glazed eyes tried to focus on him. He continued to carve into her chest until at last there was enough room for him to put his hand into her. When his hand came out, it was clutching her still beating heart. With a grin in Ron's direction – the boy was still swearing and screaming – Faun lifted the heart to his mouth and took a bite out of it. Blood sprayed into his mouth and across his cheek but he merely chuckled, swallowed and took another bite. Hermione lay still, dead, beneath him.

"You may do with him as you wish," Harry nodded to the Huntsmen as he stood up and brushed the dirt from the fur of his knees. "Then place them all in their beds at Hogwarts. The Death Eaters will help you." A glare from the Dark Lord made the Death Eaters bow in agreement.

While Harry did not do rape, many of the other Huntsmen did. And, similarly to Quirrell, Ronald Weasley spent the whole night screaming for mercy, before the Huntsmen grew tired of him and stole his soul.

Each of the four Gryffindor's were placed in their beds in Gryffindor's Tower with Severus' help. Remus Lupin, who had stayed hidden at the back of the group for the entire show finally came forward and with a small bow to the Dark Lord, took Harry into his arms.

"I'll always be with you, you know."

Harry allowed a soft smile to spread over his face, "I am not nervous nor upset. Change is inevitable, Remus. It is not something to rage over, but rejoice in. So I am to be Voldemort's, just as I was Audenarde's. But just like then, and as now," Harry found his mouth occupied by the Erlking's fingers, which brushed over his tongue and his teeth.

Audenarde finished the sentence for him. "Just like then, and as now, Harry will still be the one with the power in the relationship. Because both Marvolo and I are entranced by him, would kill for him." Audenarde pulled his fingers back with a sad smile, "and lay down our lives to protect our beloved." He hugged Harry closed, briefly, before releasing him. Ron Weasley continued to scream, he would not die for hours yet. "I will miss you, but remember. You are always beloved, and you will always belong to us."

"Unto death." The Erlking gifted him with one sadder smile, watching as Harry changed back into his human form, before he allowed to mist to carry him back to the Eternal Lodge. Those who had no interest in Ronald followed him. Harry turned to face the Dark Lord. "Do I get my surprise then?"

"When we arrive home."

He cast one longing look at the drifting fog before moving to stand by Voldemort's side. Remus followed him. "And where would home be this decade?"

"Malfoy Manor," Lucius answered with a bow. "I am honoured by your presence."

"It's you again!" Harry grinned at him. "Hello." Narcissa and Draco, who stood by Lucius' side, both bowed and greeted him. "Let's go home then?"

Voldemort gave orders to some of his Death Eaters; Severus being among them, to place the bodies where Harry wanted them placed, but allowed the others to disapparate home. An arm snaked around Harry's waist and the boy smirked softly as he raised his hood to hide his face. Green eyes peered out from the darkness and Draco Malfoy shuddered as his eyes met those of the beloved boys. Voldemort watched as some of the Huntsmen grew bored and left, but others still remained.

"Let's, shall we?" Voldemort pressed a kiss to **his** beloved's head, his lips brushing the dragon scales and his arms tightened on the sixteen-year-old boy as they apparated to Malfoy Manor, followed by the Malfoy family. "Welcome home."

Harry shook his head, stepping back from the Dark Lord's embrace. "Home will always be where the heart first was, but this is a very close second." He smirked at the flash of annoyance that crossed Voldemort's face. The rest of his life was set to be very interesting indeed.

**XXX**

**7** – Alan Alda: "It's too bad I'm not as wonderful a person as people say I am, because the world could use a few people like that."

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review, and read the paragraph after this. Thanks.

I have an idea for a new fiction that came to me in a dream, honestly. It's called "**Soul Seeker**" unless I think up anything better, and the summary is as follows:

**Summary:** HP/DM Harry didn't watch Severus die, so he never learnt that he was a Horcrux. When Voldemort was defeated Harry made sure not to get hit by the Killing Curse, and therefore a part of Voldemort's soul still lives on inside him. When Draco is freed of the Dark Mark, his Veela heritage starts to search out his Mate, but his Mate's soul isn't calling out to his own like it's meant to. Instead, the Horcrux is calling out to Voldemort's soul, and Harry's scar is still hurting. All is not well. Alternative ending to DH. No Epilogue.

What do you think? Original enough a Veela fiction for you? I'll probably start it after my exams, but only if people want me to, otherwise it will have to wait until _**The Erlking**_ and _**Indelible**_ are finished.

I need to make a banner for it as well, unless someone volunteers?


	10. Chaos

Meh, my exams are next week coming and I haven't started revising yet

A/N: Meh, my exams are next week coming and I haven't started revising yet. I'm so going to fail, I hate myself – but I really can't make myself be bothered. But I will absolutely try not to touch the computer. I'm even going to hide the usb modem wire – so don't expect to see me around for the next few weeks. I hate exams, have I ever mentioned that?

We're into double digits chapters… !

Remember, in Harry's 2nd year, Wormtail left Hogwarts with Voldemort after Ginny had been killed. Sirius, therefore, never saw Wormtail's picture in the Prophet, and never escaped Azkaban.

**Words: **5,340

**Chapter 10**

**Chaos**

Two days later – August 2nd 1996.

When the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry called a meeting, it usually had to do with one of two things. The first, being school related which this meeting was not. The other, of course, involved the Order of the Phoenix: a rag-tag group of witches and wizards hell bent on defeating Voldemort and rescuing the missing Harry Potter.

As members of the Order filed into number 12 Grimmauld Place, the Headmaster sat at the head of the table in the dining room, smiling sadly. "It is a sad day indeed," he whispered as Severus joined him. All but six seats were filled by the time the meeting was to begin.

"Where are the Weasleys?" Someone asked. Many others had noticed their absence as well.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh, and ran a hand over his face wearily. He wasn't a bad man, he honestly hadn't intended for Harry to be abused, or abandoned. Dumbledore was one of those people who thought there was good in everyone, and it usually came back to bite him in the arse. He had believed in the best in Tom Riddle, and refused to expel him for killing Myrtle and Tom had become Voldemort. He had thought there was good in Petunia Evans, and that she would love Harry like her own, but instead Harry was now in the possession of the Erlking. He had thought the lack of Death Eater attacks signalled some form of mercy, or kindness, or defeat on Voldemort's part – but it seemed, that once again, he had thought a monster to be a man.

"The Weasley family were all murdered in their home two nights ago. I only found out this morning." There was immediate uproar. Everyone shouted to one another, denying it, begging for some reprieve from Voldemort's evils. "Settle down!" Albus called and they all fell silent. One or two sniffled, or rubbed at their eyes angrily. "I was meant to meet with Arthur yesterday, I just figured he was running late. So, I owled him. When he hadn't returned my owl this morning, I went to the Burrow. The Dark Mark floated above the home, and Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Percy even, Fred and George were dead within." By this point, people were openly crying, leaning on one another for support.

He continued, "Fleur was still alive. I tried to ask her what had happened, but all she'd say was she was a Veela. She's in the St. Mungos mental trauma ward now. I believe she'll make a full recovery in time. Ron and Hermione were no where to be found."

"And with Ginny having already been killed, oh Merlin!" Minerva McGonagall sighed, tears on her cheeks. "That poor family."

"I know, my dear, I know." He patted her on the shoulder. She was sat at his left, while Severus was at his right. The dark haired man frowned. Slaughtering an entire family wasn't unheard of. The Dark Lord had done it often before his first defeat. Severus smirked, behind his hand of course, and wondered how long it would take them to realize that Voldemort hadn't been the death of those particular Weasleys?

"Of course, it is rather odd. None of them seemed to have been killed by the Unforgivables. They were tortured, make no mistake, but it seemed more primitive, barbarian. Far too Muggle to suit Voldemort's tastes. Maybe-" He cut himself off, staring at the wall above Severus' head. "I doubt it." He mumbled to himself, "it can't be."

"What Albus?" Nymphandora Tonks cried out, leaning forward in her chair. Her face was sallow and her hair a dull, limp brown. She had never quite gotten over the disappearance of Remus Lupin.

"I do believe the Erlking may have joined forces with Voldemort. Many of the family seemed to have suffered the Kiss, but the Aurors found no magical trace that there were Dementors there that night. Extraordinary." He murmured. Minerva gave him a withering glance.

"Extraordinary? Albus!" Minerva glared at him. "People are dead, this is no time for you to be so- so-!" She threw her hands in the air with a sigh, before folding them across her chest. "Honestly," she huffed, more to herself than to Albus.

"If, just pretend, that the Erlking and Voldemort have joined sides, that means that Harry would be wherever Voldemort is." Every pair of eyes at that table turned to look at Severus. The dark haired man suppressed a roll of his own eyes.

"Albus," he drawled. "You know full well that I am not as highly esteemed as I once was. It would be ludicrous to assume that I could waltz into the Dark Lord's hideout and demand an audience with Potter." He paused, and faked a frown, "assuming that Lily's son is even alive!" People gasped, and Severus really frowned. Certain words seemed to have that affect on the Wizards and Witches he associated with at these meetings. Words like 'alive', 'dead', 'murdered', they all seemed to crush the little hope remaining within the weak willed members of the Order and Severus clenched his fists by his side in annoyance. "If he is alive, I will see what can be done. Lucius still trusts me, and he is far more favoured by the Dark Lord than I."

"Very good Severus." Dumbledore sighed. And they moved on to other matters.

The bodies of the four Gryffindor's, lying in their beds at Hogwarts as if sleeping, wouldn't be found for another two days during a routine inspection by the Minister for Education. Ironically enough, the Minister was one of the Death Eaters that placed them in their beds – but he was convincing enough in his surprise and horror.

To say the Order members were upset would be an understatement. But fortunately for them, one could say, they did not have to face the grieving wrath of Molly Weasley (because she was already dead).

_XXX_

Same time.

Harry hummed quietly to himself as he ran his fingers across the faces of the portraits he passed. Many of them sneered at him, one or two even stuck their tongues out, trying to lick him, and then there were those that quickly succumbed to his siren song and began to sway side to side, their eyes glazed, before falling to a heap in their frames. Harry giggled lightly. He stopped humming and looked up to greet the approaching Wizard.

"Hello Lord Voldemort," he gave a very slight bow, more of a nod of the head really. Voldemort returned the gesture but didn't speak. "I have been here almost two days and I have yet to see this surprise of mine. You I have been surprise to be allowed to roam free, perhaps?" His voice was void of emotion, but his eyes sparkled in amusement, which inclined Voldemort to believe the boy was teasing him.

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment though before he realized this. He was not used to people making jokes around him. "You'll gift is not quite ready. He was-"

"It is alive?" Hurry butted in, eyes widening.

"Yes, human. He was unwell, but he is slowly recovering. In time, you may receive him." Harry tilted his head to one side, and hummed in thought. Voldemort actually felt the noise reach out and caress his groin. With a cough, he shifted his robes to hide the slightly embarrassing problem.

Harry smirked as he caught the movement. As a succubus, he had grown used to people doing that in his presence. "I can hunt for myself thank you, but I appreciate the concern."

Voldemort's face went completely blank for a moment before he began to chuckle. It was faint at first, and Harry frowned as he heard it. But as Voldemort's laugh got louder, Harry's confusion turned to annoyance, then finally anger. He had completely misinterpreted Voldemort's amusement. "If you find my skills so abysmal perhaps my being in your possession will not please you at all, and you should just let me leave?"

"No, no!" He said in reply, calming himself quickly. "I was not laughing at your comment. This gift, the human, he is not for you to eat. He's your godfather."

"My godfather." Harry's voice was quiet, and Voldemort could see, for the first time since he had set eyes on the boy, a hint of vulnerability on Harry's face. "Do you think he'll like me?"

"You're all he has spoken of since he woke." Voldemort said with the utmost sincerity, a soft smile on his usually angry mouth.

Harry blinked. "He's awake?"

"Awake, but not fully healed. He was in prison." Harry nodded. "I suppose you want to see him now?"

"I'd rather not wait," he blushed, very lightly, and Voldemort couldn't help but point out how alluring the shade was on Harry's pale cheeks. The blush darkened.

"This way then."

Harry hummed as he followed his new Lord through the winding hallways of Malfoy Manor, his fingers continued to brush off of the portraits as they passed. As they neared the guest wing, Voldemort turned his head to the side, calling over his shoulder, "stop that." Harry's humming ceased and he smirked, eyeing the arse of the Wizard in front of him as Voldemort tugged at the front of his robes again. "In here. Bear in mind, beloved, that this man has been locked up for fifteen years. He won't be much to look at."

"But he's family, right?" Harry asked softly as Voldemort opened the door.

Before the Dark Lord could answer, a hoarse voice called out, "Harry? Is that you?" Hushed whispering followed, along with a "sounds like James did at that age," spoken by the same person before he was shushed.

"Hello Remus." Harry allowed Voldemort to hold the door open for him as he walked into the room. The door closed behind them, and Voldemort propelled Harry forward with a hand on the base of his spine. Harry smiled at the gesture but didn't protest it. "You must be my godfather. I am Faun, but every one seems to prefer Harry."

"It's your name," Sirius Black pointed out, as Remus helped him sit up in the bed.

"But I am Faun." He smirked, his head to one side, eyes bright. "Nice to meet you." He held a hand out, and walked forward. Sirius grasped it, and instead of shaking it, he held it tight, squeezing it, before letting it go reluctantly. Voldemort's hand on Harry's arm was probably the only reason Sirius let go.

Sirius was gaunt looking; his skin was so pale it had almost gone yellow from the lack of sun light. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks hollow, but the grey of his eyes still shined as they settled on Harry's pale beautiful face. His hair was shoulder length, freshly cut, but still ragged and frizzy. His face was clean-shaven, but Harry doubted he had looked like that a few days ago. He was covered up to his chest by a thick blanket, but what Harry could see of the man's throat and torso led him to believe that he was half-starved. The boy sympathised. Before the Erlking, he had been as hungry, as gaunt looking, as well.

"The pleasure, I assure you, is all mine." His hand reached out again, and Harry shot Voldemort a frown. Voldemort's hand withdrew from Harry's arm, and Harry allowed the elder Wizard to pull him onto the bed and into a hug. "Look at you. So grown up. And so pretty. What would James say?"

"I do not know. He is dead." Harry said casually, never having been taught that some things, like death, were taboo for normal human discussions. Sirius flinched, and shot Voldemort a wary but angry glance.

"Right," Remus cut in, understanding how Harry had been raised, "what say you come have dinner in Sirius' room tonight?" Harry nodded, not attempting to garner Voldemort's permission, but both Sirius and Remus looked towards the Dark Lord first.

"Maybe you should ask first Harry." Sirius suggested. Having been raised by Purebloods he was well aware of how to treat those more powerful than oneself – with reverence – even if he was a Gryffindor.

"I am sure the Malfoys would not mine. I believe I make them uncomfortable." He frowned as everyone frowned at him. "Sorry, should I not ask the Malfoys? Is it not their home?" He turned to Voldemort with a frown. While Sirius and Remus were fooled, the Dark Lord knew, he just knew, that Harry was purposely trying to irritate him. He had done the same the night before when Voldemort had led them to the same bedroom – and therefore, the same bed.

Voldemort scowled but didn't decline permission. The point of rescuing Black from Azkaban was to impress Harry, to introduce the boy to a member of the family Voldemort himself had destroyed. If he banned Harry from seeing Black, there would have been no point breaking into the prison.

"Great!" Harry chirped, obviously knowing he had won that round. "So, how come you were in prison?"

Sirius blinked. "How much do you know about how your parents died?"

"They died. They're dead. What is there to know? In death, reason is meaningless." Sirius and Voldemort both sighed. Remus just gave a small smile; he had tried, numerous times, to tell Harry about his parents' deaths. At first, Harry would only insist they had died in a car crash, but then eventually he believed that they were killed by a Wizard, but he hadn't cared to learn who. By the time Remus had worked up the nerve to force Harry to know, the Erlking had already thought the boy that death was inevitable, and that reasons for death did not matter as long as death occurred. Remus continued to smile as Sirius strived to tell Harry the truth, and Voldemort valiantly defended his own actions, unwilling to be the bad guy in Harry's opinion. "So," Harry drawled, unconcerned, as the other two Wizards finished their tale. "That doesn't make them any less dead."

_XXX_

August 3rd 1996.

It was dark, and not very comfortable, but Harry supposed that was to be expected. He was living in a home now, not outside where he was more comfortable, and could bend the elements and the foliage to his will. The floors of Malfoy Manor did not create a bed from itself, like the leaves would do, curling around him as a nest, when Harry wanted them to. Instead, the floor remained unyielding and harsh, and he twisted and turned, groaning in annoyance. He hadn't slept as badly since he lived in the cupboard under the stairs.

Suddenly a face appeared beside him, upside-down and very vexed looking. "Harry!" Voldemort called, hanging over the side of the bed to see the boy. "I insist that you get out from under there and use the bed like a civilized being."

"I'm very comfortable here." The boy insisted, curling in on himself, wishing he had leaves and patches of grass to build a bed from.

"If I have to come down there!" Voldemort warned in a growl. Harry knew it was meant. Voldemort had said the same thing three times already, for the past three nights, and Harry was still under the bed and unharmed. "Honestly Potter. You can't really be so comfortable."

"I am," he hissed, eyes narrowing at the face.

Voldemort swung himself back up, snuggling down into the pillows. "Fine." He huffed. "I'm much too comfortable to move, myself, or I'd make good on my threat." Harry snorted. "Stay there, be a child-"

"I am a child."

The comment was ignored. "-be **comfortable**, I know I will be." With that he closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Harry sighed, still shifting from one side to the other. He really didn't like the floor, but he honestly couldn't be expected to just allow the other Wizard to take advantage of him so easily. Even the Erlking had allowed him four years of sleeping with Genetrix before bringing Harry into his own furs. Voldemort hadn't given him four weeks, never mind four days! He growled, listening to Voldemort's easy breathing, before caving with a sigh.

Voldemort tried not to let the smirk show on his face, less Harry realize he was still awake, but he almost couldn't help it. The bed dipped as Harry slid onto his side, lying on top of the duvet. Harry was practically clinging to the edge of the bed, and with a mental chuckle, Voldemort shifted over, as if rolling in his sleep, and pressed himself against Harry's side. Harry gave a yelp, but, fortunately for his ego, he managed not to fall out of the bed. Voldemort, it seemed, won that battle of wills.

Or maybe not.

When he woke the next morning, he was curled around Harry's pillow on Harry's side of the bed. When he looked under the bed, Harry wasn't there. But he was curled up, asleep, on top of the wardrobe. Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

_XXX_

August 8th 1996.

Draco hadn't really been allowed to spend much time with the other Death Eaters. Even though he was soon to receive the mark, his parents didn't really trust their son's safety to a group of murderers, despite that they were Death Eaters themselves. And after watching Faun in action they were even less inclined to leave Draco alone with Harry. But being told what to do had always, always, always made Draco want to do the opposite.

"Hey!" The blond haired boy called, waving his hands over his head. He was walking through the forest that surrounded his home. He had been certain that he had seen Harry come out here minutes before. It was evening, the sky was clear, and the moon would be full when it rose. With a shudder, Draco kept in mind the need to be inside before then – especially with Fenrir Greyback having joined the Dark Lord.

"Harry?" He tried again, before frowning as he realized the dark haired boy was a man, and not Harry. He stifled a gasp, as out of the trees came a fawn, half the size of Draco. "Oh, hello, aren't you pretty." His hand came out to pet the creature. His eyes widened at the faint white marking on the fawn's forehead, in the shape of a lightening bolt.

Even as he petted the fawn, it began to change. "You were looking for me?" Harry asked, fully human, and naked. Draco blushed. With a wave of his hand, Harry was dressed in a pair of doeskin trousers. He was still bare footed and shirtless, which was enough to keep the blush on Draco's face. His friends had been right; the boy really was beautiful.

"You know, you really need some Wizarding clothes."

"I've been here a week, and have never been allowed out of the Manor." He said softly, running his eyes over Draco. "I admit your clothes are nice. But they must be very restricting. I prefer to wear near nothing."

"Uh?" was all he could manage. "Hey," he said remembering why he had followed Harry. "Do you want to play Quidditch?"

"The game on the brooms?"

Draco's face was incredulous as he asked, "you've never played Quidditch?" A click of his fingers later and a house elf had brought two brooms, and a chest to the field. "Help me carry this to the Quidditch pitch. We have our own one, of course," he bragged as Harry lifted the chest easily, and Draco took the brooms, "it's not as large as the one at Hogwarts," he admitted grudgingly. "That's only because there are Muggles living over that way!" He pointed south. "We tried to get them to sell up, but they refused. Can you imagine? Refusing a Malfoy!" He snorted and set the brooms down.

Harry left the trunk beside the brooms. "How do we play?"

"Well, usually," he explain, in minute detail that gave Harry a headache, every aspect of playing and watching Quidditch. Draco even went as far as to by-play every match he had played in at Hogwarts. "You would have been good I bet. Your father was a Seeker." Harry just nodded. "That's what we'll do, of course. We haven't enough people to play a full game, but we can have a one-on-one Seeker match."

"You'll release the small golden ball and we chase it?" Draco nodded and handed Harry the broom.

"Up," he said, and his own broom shot off the ground and into his hand. He mounted it and was up in the air seconds later. Harry copied him, and lifted off the ground with ease. "Ready? One three," he counted, "one, two," and released the snitch which immediately flew off. Harry knew the other boy was going to cheat, so he was ready to fly by the count of 'one'.

It took them three hours to catch the snitch, because it kept flying into the forest, and the boys kept getting their hair snagged on branches. Or in Draco's case, more so than Harry's, they got their clothes caught as well. "See, restrictive, like I said." Harry muttered as he turned the snitch over in his palm. "I win then?"

They put their brooms on the floor and stood beside each other silently for a moment. "Wow," Draco breathed, for once not bothered about losing. "I really wished you were at Hogwarts. No one, on any of the opposition teams, none of them are as good as you."

"Want to go again?" Harry asked, preparing to let the fluttering ball go.

A howl cut off Draco's words. His face paled, his hand flew to his pocket, searching for his wand before remembering he had left it in the library when he caught sight of Harry on the grounds. He gulped. "Do you have your wand?"

"I do not have a wand."

With a slightly hysterical laugh Draco choked out, "we need to get you one of those, and clothes. You need clothes too." He chuckled nervously, pressing against Harry, who seemed completely relaxed.

Harry had, after all, grown up around Remus who was a werewolf. A werewolf who roamed free with the Hunt during the full moon, and who had never injured Harry, not once.

"Calm down," he whispered, rubbing the blond's arm. "Do you want to go inside?" Harry shivered lightly, and the cloak of dragon skin appeared around him, shielding his neck and shoulders.

Harry took Draco by the elbow, ignoring the Quidditch supplies and began to steer the boy towards the Manor – which was still a good ten minutes walk away from the pitch.

Two shapes moved in the trees, before stepping onto the pitch. Draco's hands flew to his mouth as he tried to stifle a scream, but he couldn't quite contain it. It squeezed its way out of his throat and between his fingers, sounding more like the cry of a dying animal than a frightened boy. His breathing increased and he pressed closer to Harry. The brunette frowned at him. "Why are you so afraid." He didn't seem to even notice the two very large werewolves coming towards him.

"Werewolves," Draco hissed, "two of them."

"Five actually. There are three behind us." Draco whirled around, losing his balance and landing on his arse with a grunt. He scuttled backwards, freezing up as he felt the hot, fetid breath on the back of his neck.

"Oh please, please, please," he whispered to himself, trying to crawl forward without setting the werewolf off.

Harry stepped towards him; a hand lay on Draco's head. Draco tried to focus on the fingers running through his hair, instead of the gruesome death that awaited him. Harry's eyes fixed on the werewolf behind Draco and he smirked.

"Hello Fenrir." His free hand pulled a broad sword seemingly from thin air, as a thick fog began to swirl around his ankles. At the sight of the fog, Fenrir lay down at Harry's feet, followed by the four other pack-mates. The largest wolf whined pathetically until the sword disappeared from Harry's hand. He reached out with that hand to pet Fenrir lightly, stroking his nose.

When the adult Malfoys realized that Draco was missing, and Severus and Voldemort couldn't find Harry either, they had begun searching the grounds. Sirius, who was much better, went in the lead. As an animagus his sense of smells was better than theirs combined. When they arrived at the Quidditch pitch the first thing they noticed was Harry, fast asleep on the ground, a ring of leaves and flowers surrounding him like a nest. Next, they noticed Draco. The blond was sitting almost on top of Harry, pale and shaking, with tears dried on his face. Voldemort was almost jealous – for one brief moment, before his eyes landed on the pack of werewolves.

Where there had been five, it had soon grown. All of Fenrir's pack, which was thirty strong, now surrounded the nest of leaves. They each had come searching, having felt the Erlking or a Hunter – for werewolves were not usually hunted, but recruited. Instead they had found the beloved and a blond boy, who seemed to be in the protection of one they all chose to serve. So the blond had been spared, and they had lain beside the trembling lamb, waiting for their master to awaken.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and Narcissa let out a terrified gasp as she tried to run towards her son. Severus had paled and hastily took several steps backwards. His biggest fear, for as long as he could remember, had always been werewolves – and it had only been made worse by the stupid prank Black had played on him in Hogwarts. Lucius' arms around Narcissa's waist kept her back. Sirius began to whine, and one or two of the werewolves echoed it, knowing that the Grim was worried for the beloved, just as they were.

"Fenrir!" Voldemort shouted, and the largest wolf, the one sat closest to the nest, fluidly rose to his paws. "Come here." He ordered. He had never seen Harry interact with other magical creatures, and he had no idea that werewolves followed the Hunt obediently. The wolves understood that they posed no threat to Harry, and Harry understood that. But the adults didn't. And, despite being reassured plenty of times by Harry before he fell asleep, Draco still didn't believe it. The blond was just waiting to be set upon, but he was much too frightened to think of running away either.

Fenrir did not move. Instead he looked down at Harry and whined. Sirius turned back into a human, but he had transfigured himself with his clothes on at least. "He isn't going to hurt Harry." The animagus said in awe. "They're protecting him."

The Malfoys could easily believe that the creature who once belonged to the Erlking held some sort of sway over the beasts, but that didn't mean they trusted their son to them. The two Malfoys, and Severus, all similarly terrified, spent the rest of the night with their wands pointed at the werewolves. Sirius changed back into a Grim, and began to search for Mooney. Having found Remus' wolf, Padfoot lay down beside him and went to sleep.

Voldemort spent most of the night shouting orders at the wolves that were wilfully ignoring him. He frowned, wondering if the blatant disregard for his command meant that Harry had just scored another point in their silent battle.

When the moon set, the werewolves simultaneously groaned in pain, their bodies shifting and their bones grinding together as their forms changed to look human once more. Harry yawned, and stretched, making Draco jump as he was hit in the stomach. Harry blinked up at the boy and smiled. "Sleep well?" Draco just scowled at him, feeling much more secure now that he wasn't surrounded by ravenous wolves. "That was the best nights sleep I've had in ages."

"Speak for yourself, Potter." Draco snarled as he stood up, quickly making his way through the sea of naked bodies and into his mother's arms.

"What bit him on the arse?" Harry grumbled as his eyes settled on Remus and Sirius. He offered Remus his cloak, which the man gratefully accepted.

"What could have bitten him is probably the problem." Sirius snorted, chuckling.

Harry scoffed. "Course not. I told him he'd be fine." Severus looked at Lucius, incredulous, as Harry brushed the matter aside. "Why would I lie?"

"Not that you'd lie, Cub," Remus whispered, trying to work out the crick in his neck, "more that he has no reason to believe Greyback would not attack him. He's never seen you around our kind."

"My kind and your kind have always co-existed." Fenrir's voice was deep and husky and Harry shuddered as it caressed his ears. "It has been far too long, Cub."

"I am not a cub." He snarled, eyes narrowing as he turned to face the naked, silver haired man.

"At least you aren't the Omega." Harry shrugged in agreement, as Fenrir shuddered at the very thought. "Who would want to hurt such a pretty boy anyway?"

"Uh, people like you?"

Fenrir chuckled, clicking his tongue. "Touché." He paused, "but, true." His arms swung at his side as he kept pace with Harry, both of them walking towards Malfoy Manor, neither of them concerned about Fenrir's complete state of nudity. The other Wizards, and one Witch, watched with wide eyes as Harry chatted amiably with the vicious werewolf.

There eyes all turned to Remus. "Don't look at me. I didn't know they knew each other!"

"We don't!" Fenrir called back, "but he is the beloved boy, is he not?" Apparently, that was supposed to explain everything.

Don't forget, that the Erlking was able to read the minds and fears and desires of any creature he passed, and that ability had been passed down to his beloved. As such, Harry knew every secrets and detail about Fenrir Greyback. And Fenrir knew, that this young man, the beautiful boy before him, was a member of the Hunt, and that was enough to garner the wolf's respect, and fear.

The others followed them inside, as the rest of the pack woke up and went in search of breakfast and clothing. The entire way to the dining room, Voldemort's eyes strayed from Fenrir, to Harry, and back again, eyeing them suspiciously. The Alpha wolf treated the smaller male as an equal, if not a superior, but Voldemort was pleased to see that he didn't see Harry as a potential mate.

With a growl, Voldemort took his seat, pulling Harry into his lap. "You'll sleep in the bed tonight, yes?" His narrowed eyes met Harry's wide ones.

"Ok," he agreed amicably. Voldemort gave a nod, feeling much happier when people followed his orders. "And you can sleep under the bed." Voldemort growled. "Or on the wardrobe, if you'd rather?" Harry chuckled lightly, remaining in Voldemort's lap, even as the Dark Lord's fingers began to bite into his waist, the knuckles turning white. Figuring he had angered the man enough for that morning, Harry generously allowed Voldemort to eat off of the same plate as him – Voldemort's.

Severus smirked to himself. He was there on Dumbledore's orders, so he wouldn't be missed, which meant he had all the time in the world to get to know Lily's son and to watch the child torment the Dark Lord. After finding the Gryffindor's dead in Hogwarts Severus had been ordered to do whatever he had to, as long as it got him back in Voldemort's good graces, and closer to rescuing Harry.

Severus didn't think Harry needed rescuing. If he were honest with himself, and not just being overly protective of his Lily's son, he would have to say that if anyone needed protecting, it was Voldemort.

**XXX**

Anyway, please review… I wanna see if I can get more reviews for this than I got for Wolf (411) so, help me out? :) Hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	11. Intermission: Wolf Cubs

Hey all, this is a one-shot set within The Erlking Era, but it's a Fenrir/Harry friendship pairing, because someone wanted to

Hey all, this is a one-shot set within The Erlking Era, but it's a Fenrir/Harry friendship pairing, because someone wanted to see it, and I haven't done a Fenrir fiction yet and I wanted to see how it goes. Enjoy.

If you want to read it as a one-shot, I've posted it under the FenrirHarry section of FFnet as well..

The first part takes place between Chapters 3 and 4. The year is between April 1986 and February 1987. Remus isn't here, because he doesn't come in till Chapter 5. The second part takes place after Chapter 10, year August 1996.

The second part of this fiction was inspired mostly by "ams71080" at FFnet. Thanks to you, because I was having difficulties coming up with a plausible storyline that fit with **The Erlking**. Also, "ams71080" happens to be my 200th reviewer!! I only need 198 reviews more to beat **Wolf** .

**Words: **3,690

**Chapter 11**

**Intermission: ****Wolf Cubs**

June 1986. Two months after The Erlking took Harry.

Harry had only been with the Erlking for two months before the creature decided it was high time to change forests. They left the Eternal Lodge, and they hunted in a small forest area in Germany. It was a completely Muggle area, and the townsfolk didn't know what had hit them. Not only were bodies turning up completely mangled, they also, now, seemed to have had their souls sucked out.

The Erlking didn't seem to be too bothered by the very obvious presence of a pack of Werewolves. In fact, he had even given the Huntsmen orders to not harm the wolves. Now, normally, werewolves were not hunted. The Hunt preferred to recruit wolves, to make them one of their own, a Hunter, rather than merely prey. So it wasn't unnatural to be told to not attack. However, Harry was a little confused.

He had only been there two months, and he had learnt very little of their ways in that time. He hadn't even known that Werewolves existed. To be told that, not only could men and women turn into wolves on the full moon, but also that a pack of them were living very close to him, was something he couldn't quite process. Words just sometimes were not enough.

It took actions sometimes to make a point sink in. The emphasis was usually in the visual image. While the spoken word was a nice touch, but was usually overlooked, especially by small children.

The six-year-old boy scratched his head in thought, biting the corner of his lip as he looked around, making sure everyone was asleep. When he was satisfied that no one was awake to miss him, he slowly slipped out of Genetrix's arms. He swallowed heavily as she shifted, but then she rolled over and continued to sleep. Harry let out a long breath, and completely forgetting he wasn't trying to flee unnoticed, he ran from the clearing, giggling loudly.

He was soon immersed in trees. He turned around, contemplating going back, but then realized he didn't know which way was back. With a deep breath, he carried on walking forward. Every now and then, Harry would trip over a tree root. The roots were almost as big as him, never mind how tall the trees were. Harry looked up as he walked, eyeing the tops of the trees, and they way they seemed to brush against the sky. He sighed, smiling softly as he looked ahead just in time to spot the low hanging branch that was about to smack him in the face. He ducked and grinned. Harry couldn't wait until he was big. When he was tall, and big, no one would be horrible to him like Uncle Vernon had been. There wouldn't be any more boys like Dudley trying to beat him up. Instead, he'd be big enough to hit Dudley back, and maybe Dudley would fall over or something. Harry would have felt horrible thinking that if he had known that Dudley was dead.

Now, Harry hadn't left as unnoticed, as he would have hoped. The entire time he walked through the trees the Erlking silently trailed behind him, lips twitching at Harry's amusing thoughts. Audenarde's eyes softened every time Harry let out a giggle or fell over himself.

While Harry stared up at the trees again, the Erlking subtly manipulated the trees and the braches so they seemed to bend out of the way, causing far less of them to hit Harry as the boy passed, as they would have done naturally. One or two tree roots even sunk back into the ground just in time to prevent Harry tripping over them. The Erlking didn't want his beloved boy too badly bruised up by his midnight excursion.

Eventually, Harry sighed and dropped to the floor, tucking his legs beneath him. "I'm lost," he whispered to a spider, which was hanging from a branch above his head. Harry held his hand out, and the spider fell into the palm of his hand. With gentle fingers, Harry stroked the spiders back. "I'm really, really lost. But I'm not afraid. I know He'll find me." Harry smiled warmly and placed the spider back on the tree, and then he watched as it climbed back up to its web.

Harry let out a yawn. He watched, happily, as the growingly familiar fog began to rise off the forest floor and wrap around him like a blanket. Where he had once feared the same mist, he now cherished its presence, for it meant that the Erlking was not angry with him for disappearing. And it meant that the Erlking was still out there, somewhere, looking for him.

In fact, the Erlking was looking right at him. When Audenarde was sure Harry was asleep, he picked the boy up and laid him in his own lap. He hummed to himself, running his fingers through Harry's shaggy black hair as he watched the boy sleep.

When the sun rose, Audenarde was back with the Huntsmen, and someone else stood guard over the beloved boy.

Harry yawned, his arms stretched over his head, chasing after the sun that shined a little too brightly for his liking. He stifled a gasp as he noticed another man, someone he was not familiar with, sitting beside him. Harry's fingers covered his mouth, and he hoped the other man hadn't noticed he was awake. As silently as he could manage, Harry got to his knees and tried to crawl away from the stranger.

A hand clamped over his ankle, and pulled him backwards. Harry's fingers dug into the earth, trying to keep crawling. The other man chuckled. His voice was deep, and husky as if he had spent the night screaming – maybe in pain, or during amazing sex, but Harry was too young to know either way. Harry turned his head, fearfully eyeing the stranger.

"Fear not," he growled, his eyes were almost amber with flecks of silver. But they looked down on Harry kindly, and the boy found himself relaxing. "I have been asked to mind you for a day or two."

"By the Erlking?" Harry asked, delighted to realize the strange man who still gripped his leg was not actually a stranger.

"Yes," he drawled. He released Harry's ankle and used that hand to brush back his shoulder length silver hair. Harry eyed it, biting down on his lip in contemplation. The man's hair wasn't originally silver, he decided, because the eyebrows were brown. Harry giggled. "What is it?"

"You're old." He giggled again, his mouth hidden behind his hands. "All your hair has gone gray."

"I'm not old," he growled back. "I'm distinguished." Harry gave him a strange look and the man realized the boy probably didn't know what that word meant. "My name is Fenrir Greyback, and who might you be, Pup?"

"I'm Harry!" He held his hand out, and Fenrir shook it with a smirk. "What's a pup?"

Fenrir chuckled, standing up and pulling Harry to his feet as well. "A pup is a young dog, just like a cub is a young wolf. But sometimes we call wolf cubs, pups as well." He paused. "I believe some humans called impudent children pups as well."

"I'm not impude- impudeian- what does that word mean anyway?" He huffed, having given up on being indignant when he realized he couldn't pronounce the word anyway.

"Don't worry Cub." Fenrir rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. He propelled the boy forward with a small shove, and Harry turned to pout at the werewolf. "This way. Keep up." With that, Fenrir took off at a jog and Harry was too stunned to react. But that only lasted a moment. Spending two months with the Huntsmen who worshiped him had done wonders for his self-esteem, and so, with a war cry, he charged after Fenrir. He fell over quite a few times before he caught up, but he still had fun.

The silver haired man was practically in stitches laughing by the time Harry tackled his legs, panting hard. "Caught you." The boy yelled, delighted with himself.

His face took on a rosy hue, and his eyes widened in fear as he noticed the thirty-or-so others sitting in various states of undress, all staring at him. A handful of them had even bared their teeth at him. Harry let go of Fenrir and took hurried steps backwards, the space between him and the Alpha caused the others to relax, but Harry was honestly terrified. There had never been so many people around him at once whose very presence reminded him of Vernon Dursley. He swallowed. Before he could run away a hand clamped around his wrist, and pulled him towards the group.

The mist followed him. When the werewolves noticed the fog their eyes widened and they turned to look at their Alpha and then at the small boy. "This is Harry," Fenrir said in his deep voice, which carried well. Everyone paid attention to him, anxious to hear his next words. "He is the beloved boy, and we will be minding him for the next day or so."

The others began to talk amongst themselves, and Harry only heard a few words, but it was enough. After hearing 'full moon' and 'tonight' more than seven times, it finally dawned on him. "You're all werewolves!" He gasped, and clapped his hands together in delight. "They were telling the truth!"

"Yes," Fenrir said, smiling, "we are, and tonight is our second full moon of the month." Harry didn't look scared. When he had thought that these were normal people like his uncle, he had been terrified, but now that he realized that they were magical beings that belonged in this new world of his, he wasn't afraid. No more than he was while he was lost in the forest. The Erlking had sworn to protect him, and Harry believed with all his heart that no magical, fantastical creature would dare go against the Erlking.

It was amusing, to say the least, and Harry had a good time. The other werewolves were almost tripping over themselves to please Harry when they realized he wasn't a threat to their Alpha, and that he was the beloved of the King of the Alders. Not to mention that their Alpha was rather taken with him. Usually the cubs played by themselves, but, as Harry was with them, Fenrir had taken to following them wherever they went that day. He had even joined in on one or two of their chases, all of which resulted in Harry getting pinned to the ground because he couldn't run as fast as the wolves. Fenrir took a rather perverse pleasure in seeing the powerful boy writhing beneath the bigger children and pouting.

"It's only cause I'm so small," Harry said shoving Fenrir lightly. "I'll get bigger one day and then you won't be laughing any more. I'll get you."

"I'm shaking in my boots, Cub." Fenrir teased lightly.

It wasn't very funny, however, when Harry frowned and looked down at Fenrir's bare feet. "You aren't wearing boots, silly." The silver haired man just chuckled deeply. Harry pouted again.

That night, when the sun began to set, the children huddled beside their mothers while the fathers stood around with each other. The Alpha lay on his side on a pile of leaves. When Harry lay down beside him, the leaves seemed to shift lightly as the mist engulfed them. When the mist retreated, the leaves lay strewn in a circle around both Fenrir and Harry, creating a nest of sorts. Harry laughed in amazement, and Fenrir smiled at the innocence of the child, at the strength of the boy who had made those leaves move and didn't even know it.

Harry settled down to sleep, but was woken by screaming, and crying. Most of the sounds came from the children, and their mothers joined in distressed by the pain of their cubs. Harry frowned, and turned to Fenrir. "Why are they-?" He froze, the words caught in his mouth. Fenrir was no longer lying beside him. In Fenrir's place was a very large silver wolf. Harry hesitantly reached out and ran his fingers through the course gray hair. "Amazing," he breathed lightly.

Fenrir lifted his head, and followed by the members of his pack that had completed the change, he howled up at the moon. Harry, with a silly smile on his face, howled with him. At the very edge of the clearing, the Erlking watched his beloved boy. Feelings of jealousy and anger stirred within him, but he could not make himself remain angry with the beautiful boy, for it was not Harry's fault he was so beautiful and kind. He grinned to himself, a terrifying sight, and turned back to his own pack, content that Harry was safe for the night.

The next morning, Fenrir woke, fully human and naked to the sight of Harry Potter staring at him. Harry's fingers played in his hair and the boy was muttering under his breath. "What are you saying?" Fenrir asked curiously. Harry was talking so quietly that even a werewolf couldn't make out the words.

"This story, about a big bad wolf and a little girl. Someone once told me, I don't know if they were joking, but they said that werewolves were born when the girl and the wolf lay down together." Harry frowned. "Like us."

Fenrir coughed. He knew the story well, and it wasn't laying down the wolf did with the girl. Unsure whether he should explain the birds and the bees to a child so young, and not of his own pack, Fenrir improvised. "They also got married."

"Did they like each other a lot?" Harry asked with a smile, his finger still in Fenrir's hair.

"They must have, why?"

Harry sighed. "There was this girl at school, and she only spoke to me if my cousin wasn't in school. But her mum liked this man, and they got married. And then, she said her mum loved the man, and they had another baby." Fenrir nodded noncommittally. "I like you. You're very nice," Harry snuggled closer to the naked werewolf, who blushed at the reaction of his body.

"I like you too."

"We should get married." Harry sat up, a huge smile on his face. Fenrir's shell-shocked expression wasn't enough to deter Harry. "We like each other so we should get married."

"And what about cubs?" Fenrir asked, playing along.

Harry frowned. He stood up, and straightened out his shirt. "Cubs?"

"Young. You usually have children when you get married." Fenrir stood also, and gratefully accepted the trousers held out to him by his beta.

Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking hard. "You said cubs were baby wolves, right?" Fenrir just nodded. His hand on the small of Harry's back pushed the boy towards the fireplace where meat was being cooked. "Where would we get cubs?" A few other werewolves choked on their food at Harry's words. "I don't know any shops where I used to live that sold wolves!"

Fenrir thought it would be very rude to laugh at the boy, especially since he wouldn't be able to explain away his laughter without explain to Harry the mechanics of reproduction. "When you're older, Harry." He said, handing the boy a steak. "Eat up, you have to go back to the Erlking later today."

Harry ate, as he was told to. And he never brought up the idea of having cubs with Fenrir Greyback again. But then, he didn't really remember much about that time, and he didn't really remember the man at all. He could vaguely remember having to eat meat for two days straight, but that wasn't much different to being fed by the Huntsmen.

While most children do not remember much about their childhoods, Harry's memory loss was different. After all, the Erlking was a jealous creature with the ability to read minds and thoughts. It could, therefore, be possible for him to affect the memory as well.

_XXX_

August 8th 1996. – During Chapter 10.

Fenrir could hear Voldemort calling out to him, telling him to move away from Harry and go towards the small number of Death Eaters. But Fenrir didn't want to. He wanted to stay beside the beloved boy and take care of him, to protect him. If he was with Death Eaters it couldn't be a good thing. And where were the Huntsmen? Shouldn't they have tried to rescue him by now?

Fenrir had also noticed the addition of his only sired wolf, Remus Lupin, and a large black dog. They lay down with his pack, and no amount of growling had gotten them to move. His attention was firmly on the sleeping dark haired boy. Said boy had a blond teenager half sitting on top of him, shaking like a leaf. Did the blond honestly think he would allow harm to come to anyone close to Harry? It was ludicrous. He had protected Harry, he had run with the Hunt; he would not do either the dishonour of harming a friend.

When Harry shifted and yawned, Fenrir felt a smirk break out, as much as a wolf could smirk. He changed back, followed by the rest of the pack, as the moon set. "Sleep well?" Harry asked the blond boy, who scowled. "That was the best nights sleep I've had in ages."

"Speak for yourself, Potter." The blond snarled before making his way to the Death Eater that was obviously his mother. Fenrir was tempted to rip his throat out for the disrespectful tone, but Harry looked amused only, not affronted, so Fenrir let it rest.

He made his way to Lupin and the dog, which turned into Sirius Black. They talked to each other, while Fenrir worked out the stiffness in his back and shoulders. Remus was whispering to Harry when Fenrir moved to stand behind the black haired teenager. "He's never seen you around our kind."

"My kind and your kind have always co-existed." Fenrir's voice was deep and husky and Harry shuddered as it caressed his ears. "It has been far too long, Cub."

Harry spun to face him, eyes narrowed and Fenrir resisted the urge to flinch. "I am not a cub." The boy had certainly grown up. His presence was more commanding, his very being screamed power and it made Fenrir shudder in pleasure. They bantered back and forth, and to Fenrir's mind it seemed as if Harry was playing hard to get, when of course Harry honestly didn't know who this man was or why he felt so comfortable around him.

The walked away together, neither caring about Fenrir's nakedness. "You are older now, mate." Fenrir drawled out, his voice seductively low. His arm reached out for the boy who had wanted to marry him at the age of six. Harry slapped the arm away with a frown.

"I am promised to the Dark Lord," he whispered hurriedly. "Sorry, but do I know you?" Fenrir's mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't make the words come out. Instead he just shook his head slightly, and dropped his arm. His fists were clenched by his sides, and his only consolation was that he could smell Voldemort's anger a mile away.

"Don't look at me. I didn't know they knew each other!" Remus shouted, more than likely, Fenrir thought, because everyone was staring at him.

"We don't!" Fenrir called back, realizing that Harry honestly didn't remember him, "but he is the beloved boy, is he not?"

Harry turned to frown at him. They were already some time away from the others before the brunette spoke again. "I do know you don't I?" He paused, biting his lip. "It feels like I know you. I feel safe with you, and that usually only happens when I know someone."

Fenrir thought of telling him, of begging the boy to remember but then thought better of it. Harry was engaged to Lord Voldemort, and his wrath was bad enough. But when combined with the idea of pissing off the Erlking, it seemed like biting off more than Fenrir knew he could chew. Harry had obviously forgotten for a reason, no doubt because of the famous possessive streak Audenarde had. But, honestly, Fenrir didn't mind. While he was attracted to the boy, and enjoyed the thought of making cubs with Harry, he had to admit, that Harry's destiny was already planned out, and being a werewolf wasn't part of the package.

And anyway, Fenrir would always have his memories. "No, we've never met before. Fenrir Greyback by the way."

"I know." Harry whispered, more confused than ever when Fenrir only smiled.

A hand on the small of his back propelled him forward, and Harry allowed the hand to remain there the rest of the walk to Malfoy Manor. He allowed Fenrir to pull out his chair in the dining hall, and when Voldemort walked in and saw the way Harry was hanging off every word of Fenrir's, the dark haired boy couldn't help but giggle a little, inside.

Fenrir waited until Harry had finished eating before offering to walk Harry to an actual bed. The growl of jealousy Voldemort let out as Fenrir led Harry from the room, hand in hand, would have made any punishment worthwhile. So, Fenrir hadn't been able to defeat the jealousies of the Erlking, but he sure could get one over on a jealous Voldemort, for a little while.

"It really was good to see you again," Fenrir whispered as they reached Voldemort's bedroom.

Harry had already closed the door before he realized something. Fenrir had said 'again', more than once. He opened the door to ask a question, but Fenrir was gone. Did that imply that he and Fenrir had met before? Harry smirked, and wondered; when and where had he met Fenrir Greyback, and why the hell he couldn't remember (as long as it wasn't an embarrassing memory, in which case he wouldn't mind forgetting).

**XXX**

Thanks for reading. A chapter of The Erlking will actually be up soon, ok. Hope you enjoyed it, and are inclined to review.


	12. The World Awaits

Someone asked: Audenarde – Pronounced: Ow-Den-Arde (arde like hard).

Thanks for waiting so long. I had exams, for uni, and they were important. I probably failed but enough about that – onto the next chapter.

Still have one exam to go, tomorrow (Friday), but I was in withdrawal… I had to write something!

**Words: **4,029

**Chapter 12**

**The World Awaits**

August 12th 1996

In fairytales, when the princess falls asleep forever, she's woken with a kiss from her prince. True loves first kiss is said to be the most powerful of all magic. Just one kiss from your beloved was enough to satisfy a person's lust for a lifetime in a fairytale land. Harry might have agreed. After all, first everythings are important: first kisses, first times, first impressions. However, he had to disagree on the powerful magic part.

A wave of Voldemort's wand later, and Harry was watching some real powerful magic happen, with astounding results. He giggled softly as a stream of water jetted from the tip of Voldemort's yew wand. The Dark Lord himself shot out of the bed, a high-pitched scream – a mixture of rage and surprise – burst from his mouth. Narrowed red eyes turned to Harry, narrowing further as Voldemort ran a wet hand through his wet hair.

"What was that in aid of?" He growled, snatching the wand from Harry and casting a drying spell. If it had been anyone else, anyone apart from Harry, they would have been crucioed to death already. His freehand clenched around his now-dried robes as he tried not to launch himself at his beloved. As annoying as Harry could be, Voldemort had rather grown too fond of the boy to kill him now.

Harry smirked, and with a bounce in his step headed towards the door. "I wanted to wake you in style, fair princess." Harry smirked as he listened to Voldemort banish the wet bed sheets. He pulled the door closed behind him before laughing. That would serve Voldemort right. Harry had chosen to sleep on top of the wardrobe again, but sometime during the night Voldemort had levitated him down, and tied his hands to the bedposts. It had taken Harry ten minutes of squirming, the fear of waking Voldemort strong within him, before he had wriggled out of his silken bindings.

By the time Voldemort arrived for breakfast Harry had already told Sirius how well that spell had worked.

"Black," Voldemort groused. "I should have known."

"Hey!" Sirius defended himself, pouting cutely at Harry, who giggled. "Someone has to teach him the important pranking spells!" Voldemort snorted and sat down. Three mouthfuls into his breakfast, Voldemort noticed the addition to the table. Along with the Malfoys, Harry, Black and Lupin, Fenrir Greyback sat, smirking at the Dark Lord in his half-arrogant-half-subservient way.

"Greyback," the Dark Lord hissed out between clenched teeth, not quite having forgiven the werewolf for disrespecting his orders during the full moon. Fenrir's smirk merely widened, the corners of his lips stretching a little further apart to flash his fangs. His mouth opened even wider, however, as he began to scream, a 'Crucio' falling from the Dark Lord's angry tongue.

"Stop," Harry mumbled. While he may have been a vicious killer in his own right, he had never been taught the Unforgivables by Remus – who was unable to perform them – and since he had started living in Malfoy Manor, he had come to realize a lot of Voldemort's followers had mastered those curses, and they made Harry uncomfortable. They weren't natural. Harry shrugged to himself: then again, any form of torture where there was no blood was unnatural in his opinion as well.

Voldemort frowned at the pale teenager, but ended the spell nonetheless. Harry had only been there for two weeks but he was able to order Voldemort around like no one else had ever dared to. And, strangely enough, Voldemort honestly didn't seem to mind, much.

"Are you enjoying your breakfast?" Harry asked, trying to make polite conversation.

Voldemort just leered at him, "I had hoped something a little different would be on the menu." Harry flushed as Voldemort finished in Parseltongue. "**I would have preferred breakfast in bed, with you on the menu.**"

"At your mercy no doubt," Harry whispered with a snort, rubbing his wrists unconsciously. Voldemort continued to eat, a half-smile playing at his lips. No matter how often Sirius prodded him, Harry couldn't bring himself to tell Sirius what Voldemort has said to him. His cheeks flamed at the thought of Sirius knowing. He did not normally become embarrassed. Living among the Erlking and his ilk had left him slightly emotionally stunted but he did not mind. Embarrassment was a weak emotion anyway. However, Sirius was family. He had no problem being naked in front of his victims and the Huntsmen, and even Remus did not faze him. But Sirius was family, and every child – deep down – feared their parents walking in on them naked. Harry shuddered at the thought, a scary image of Vernon walking into the shower, while Harry was in the shower, naked and wet and appetizing.

Voldemort caught the shudder and smirked, "**excited Harry?**"

"Traumatised, so traumatised." He swallowed a drink of water, "such bad mental images," the look of disgust on his face made Sirius burst out laughing. At Voldemort's glare, Sirius shoved a napkin into his mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

"Go get ready." Voldemort said sneering in Sirius' direction. He mentally chanted, 'don't kill the godfather, Harry will hate you' over and over as he continued to eat. "The Malfoys are taking you to Diagon Alley." The three Malfoys looked a little green at this statement.

It had been almost four days since the full moon, and Draco was still afraid – except Malfoys don't do 'afraid' – to go near Harry. Let's just say he was 'wary'. After all, he was almost eaten by a pack of ravenous, flea-bitten werewolves. Draco was the first to stand up.

He looked Harry up and down, "I suppose you haven't got any money?" He looked to the Dark Lord. Voldemort's left hand was outstretched, a small golden key lying in the palm of his hand.

"Oh, thanks, but it's fine." Harry smiled softly, pulling a key out from under his robes, hanging off of a thing silver chain. "I have money." Voldemort's fist clenched around the key, and the arm drew back.

"Very well. Enjoy your day." He stood up, breakfast half-eaten, and swept from the room. He didn't know why he cared, but he did. Harry was his now, he was meant to be able to provide for him, like the Erlking had done for years. How dare Harry reject his offer. With a scowl, he slammed the door to his study and threw himself down in the chair. When he looked up, a moment later, Harry was perched on the corner of his desk. "How did you-?"

"We must speak." Harry brushed back his hair; it was long and rust coloured again. From his head, sprouted two curved horns. The young man did not look happy. "Your emotions confused, Marvolo."

Voldemort snorted. "The confuse me too." He paused, a hand reached out for Harry but drew back before touching. Harry merely smiled back. "I do not feel. Even as a child, if I felt, it was anger, rage, jealousy or hate."

"Then you do feel." Harry said simply.

"Not like this!" Voldemort stood from the chair, his voice raised. His hands clamped on Harry's shoulders. "I am not meant to feel like _this_! Fondness, joy, amusement, I even like you. _Like_ of all things." He growled softly, but released Harry. "Dark Lords do not feel."

"Then, maybe you are not a Dark Lord?" Voldemort's eyes narrowed, the red irises blazing in anger at Harry's words.

"I'll show you dark," he muttered as he raised his wand. "Crucio!" He cried, but the spell went straight through Faun. For, where the boy had sat, now wafted only fog. The door closed with a soft click, and Voldemort threw his wand at it, half wishing it would fly through the wood and hit the departing teenager in the head. The other half of him felt _happiness_ that the spell had not struck his beloved.

He sighed, and sank back into his seat. He had a lot to work through before he spoke to Harry next.

_XXX_

The idea of bringing someone, anyone, willingly through every shop in Diagon Alley dispelled any thoughts of anger or fear from Draco's mind. He happily held Harry's hand, dragging the boy into one shop after the other. The elder Malfoys watched warily, following behind them at a sedate pace. Sirius was with them, enjoying his newfound freedom. He smiled, laughing with Remus, and even on occasion with Severus, pointing out people he used to know before his imprisonment.

"Honestly Black." Severus snarled, "You used to know me as well, what of it?" He rolled his eyes, honestly not understanding the nostalgia that Black seemed to have about him, wearing it like a robe. He snorted and walked closer to the Malfoys instead.

"Don't mind him," Remus whispered. Remus' eyes, no matter who he was talking to, were fixed on the beloved boy. Remus prided himself on keeping Harry safe when the Erlking was not around, and this time, he swore, would be no different. "Faun," he called, "not so fast."

"Draco will take care of him," Lucius drawled, confident in his son's ability to protect the other boy.

Remus snorted, "Harry doesn't need taking care of. I just don't want anyone to notice him."

Harry turned back and smiled. His black hair hung in his eyes, and Remus sighed, wishing there was a way to make the hair rust coloured without making the horns appear as well. He looked too much like James with black hair. A simple glamour charm was too easy to break. He sounded a rather lot like Alastor Moody, he knew that, but that was beside the point. If Albus got hold of Harry, Merlin knows what would happen.

Neither the Erlking, nor Voldemort would be happy at any rate.

Draco pulled Harry into Olivander's wand shop. Harry tried to read the sign above the door, but Draco dragged him inside too fast. Harry's eyes were fixed on the corner of the room where Olivander stood. Draco looked around and groaned. "That man is never here when you need him."

"He's over there," Harry said, loudly, before Olivander could announce himself.

"Draco Malfoy, dragon heartstring core, flexible, good for hexes." He turned to look at Harry, and bowed from the waist, his hair falling over his shoulders to brush the ground. "It is an honour, beloved. I suppose you're here for a wand then," he said, standing back up.

They went through boxes and boxes of wands, Draco losing his patience, and Olivander becoming distressed.

"I would have said this one," he held a box forward, "but, now, I do not know." He caressed the box lovingly for a moment, then took the lid off and held the wand out. Before Harry could take hold of it, Olivander stepped back. "Holly and phoenix feather, brother wand to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He was talking more to himself than to Harry. "I was informed, a long time ago," his eyes fell on Draco, as well as the adults who had entered the shop while Harry was trying the other wands. "Perhaps we could talk alone, beloved boy?"

"Call me Faun." Harry said as he followed Olivander, and the wand, into the back storeroom. More wands were piled up, high above the lone desk that sat beneath the only other window in the shop. Olivander took a seat at the desk, and Harry perched on the corner. The wand, back in its box, was left on the desk, in the centre.

Both men watched the wand for a moment. It seemed to shake lightly in the box, wriggling side to side, making the box shift across the desk, inching towards Harry. "The wand chooses the Wizard," Olivander said with a smile. "So perhaps this is still your wand?"

"What were you going to tell me?"

"A long time ago, I was told that this wand would be yours. I would have made you try others first of course. Wands are my life, I pride myself on helping the wand chose the correct Wizard." He paused. "I couldn't give you a wand if it was not meant for you. There could have been a better wand among all the others." He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at Harry. "This wand core shares a feather from a phoenix who only shed two. Two tail feathers in two separate wands. Voldemort owns the other, and you, it seems will own this one."

"Why?"

"Because you are connected." Without permission or a request, Olivander's hand came out to brush along the lightening bolt-shaped scar. "He was great. Terrible, of course, but he did great things. As you will, I'm sure."

"Connected how?"

Olivander sighed. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

"Yes," Harry nodded and said. "It is an object which contains a piece of a persons soul. By splitting the soul, you render yourself less human, but you are given extra lives as it were. Each time you die, you may come to life again with the aide of your Horcrux. No one has dared make more than three."

"Until Voldemort." Olivander smirked. "He made seven, including himself. Although, he does not know this, he made one more." The old man's eyes were fixed pointedly on Harry's forehead. "Your scar connects you, in the same way your wands are connected. You share a core, a soul. The person, who came to me a long time ago and told me to give you this wand, came back when you should have begun your first year at Hogwarts. He told me this wand would no longer be yours as you no longer were a Horcrux."

Harry frowned, "I'm not?"

"Oh you are, you are, if the wand says you are." He pushed the box forward and Harry hesitantly picked up the wand. He waved it, and moss and ivy began to climb up the walls and across the ceiling, entwining around the light fixture. Another flick of the wand caused small rose buds to spring up, along the ivy, before they bloomed and then died. The rotten petals fell from the ceiling and floated down onto Olivander's head. "Yes, I dare say, this is your wand." He used his own wand to vanish the dying plants. "You are fascinating," he murmured as Harry stood from the desk.

"I am still a Horcrux?" Olivander nodded, "and how would I go about removing it?"

"You would need to die. But I cannot guarantee your soul would not die as well." Harry nodded his thanks, and leaving Olivander in the back room, headed towards his party.

"You learn something new every day," he whispered to Remus before allowing Draco to drag him off again.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. It was only when they were passing by a boarded up show that used to belong to the Weasley twins that someone took actually notice of them. A gasp left the woman's mouth, and her hand flew to her chest.

"'Arry Potter!" Her husband called, noticing where she was staring. "Death Eaters have 'Arry Potter!" He cried again. His wand was pointed at Severus. The wife pointed hers at Sirius.

A handful of Aurors approached them. Aurors had taken to patrolling the Wizard only areas since Voldemort's return. They figured he would most likely launch any large-scale attacks in Wizard only zones to save time Obliviating the Muggles. "What's this then?"

"Is that Sirius Black?" One of the other Aurors asked. Black had been broken out of Azkaban, but not cleared by the Ministry. Fortunately, Remus had enough sense to cast minor glamour on Sirius before they left.

"I am a Black, but not a Sirius." Sirius drawled with a wink at the female Aurors. "Name's Armadas Black, very distant cousin of the lovely Narcissa Malfoy." He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, "wave distantly-related-cousin-of-mine." She glared at him, but the Aurors smiled and diverted their attention to Severus.

"He was vouched for by Albus Dumbledore!" One cried, "He can't be a Death Eater!"

"But he is Harry Potter," the female breathed taking a step towards the dark haired boy. Draco's hand tightened around Harry's. "Get Albus." She ordered.

Harry looked to Remus. The werewolf looked distressed, his eyes darting around frantically trying to find a way to escape before Dumbledore appeared. Severus frowned as well. He vowed silently that no one would harm Lily's son, despite the fact that the boy was able to take care of himself.

"Do not do anything," Severus hissed, "that you do not have to." Harry took that to mean 'don't turn into a Faun or a fawn either'. Dumbledore appeared soon enough, smiling benevolently at each of Harry's party in turn.

"Ah Remus, so glad to see you aren't harmed." He held a hand out, obviously expecting Remus to take it, and come back to the Light side. Remus merely watched him, calculatingly, his gaze filled with mistrust. "Harry, my boy, finally safe! Well done Severus." The Malfoys looked at him with confusion, having had no idea he was a spy.

"I always endeavour to do my best, Albus, but I believe I outdid myself this time."

"No doubt my child, no doubt. Come now Harry." Severus was standing by Dumbledore's side; he frowned harder as members of the Order arrive. They formed a circle and began to close in on the Malfoys, Remus, and Sirius. But Harry was no longer there.

A thin fog shimmered lightly beside Draco, but Faun was standing eight feet away, slowly inching back towards Olivander's wand shop. "There he is!" Tonks screamed, her wand pointed after him. She accidentally let out a cutting hex, which fortunately missed Harry, but unfortunately cut through the metal pole holding the sign to the wall. The sign, proudly stating 'Madame Malkin's robes for all Occasions' fell down, right on top of Harry. He groaned, and tried to stand. Winded, he fell back to the ground.

Dumbledore took hold of the boy's arm, and pulled him up. "There you go my lad." Harry groaned and rubbed his head. Dumbledore smiled. Harry's movement had brushed back his fringe for Dumbledore to check whether the scar was really there or not. "Come then Harry. Let us go."

Fortunately, Lucius had been slyly running his fingers over his Dark Mark, while all of this was happening. He may not be overly fond of the scary boy, but he knew the Dark Lord would be enraged if Harry was taken.

Back at Malfoy Manor, Voldemort frowned. He felt a tingle of magic creep over him and run down his spine, making him wince lightly. Something was wrong. One of his Death Eaters was trying to warn him of something. While Voldemort may call a Death Eater by making their mark burn, he himself did not have a mark. Instead, his followers could use their mark to alert his magic, his own essence, that there was a problem. Voldemort closed his eyes and sought out the foreign thread of magic, matching to Lucius Malfoy. Lucius, who was with Harry, which meant something was happening to Harry.

A click of his fingers later, and Bellatrix was by his side. He touched her mark, and summoned his other followers. "Attack Diagon Alley, and bring me back Harry Potter, unharmed."

Just as Dumbledore was about to trigger a Portkey to number 12 Grimmauld Place, a Cruciatus brought him to his knees. Bellatrix Lestrange cackled as Dumbledore bit through his lip, trying not to scream as Bellatrix cursed him again. Harry winced. He really didn't like that spell.

He slipped away from the two of them. Hidden in the threshold of another shop he watched as Voldemort's followers battled the Order. Two weeks was not enough time for Harry to grow used to things like this, and he was feeling uncomfortably out of his depth. Severus' hand closed around his arm. The man concentrated on the position of the Dark Lord, and allowed his mark to bring them both there. Harry fell to his knees when they landed and Voldemort immediately dropped beside him. The elder Wizard pulled Harry to his chest, holding him tightly, and Severus watched them, wishing he had thought to hold Lily's son first. He clenched his fists, and settled for running his fingers through the beloved boy's hair. He didn't stop, even when the other Death Eaters arrived, along with Sirius and Remus. Voldemort pulled back though before placing a soft kiss to Harry's lips, and Harry let him.

Remus met Harry's gaze and sighed in relief. Apart from a bump on the head, and maybe a concussion that Severus could heal, Harry was unharmed. He was safe again, and Remus berated himself for letting Dumbledore that close to his cub. Never again. He knew Severus was thinking the same thing.

_XXX_

The Order of the Phoenix always met at number 12 Grimmauld Place. The house had belonged to the Black Family, but when Sirius was made Lord Black he no longer had any family members, and he had no wish to live in the awful house of his childhood. So he had given it to the Order. The Fidelus Charm protected the house, and only Dumbledore – the secret keeper – could tell people where it was.

Upon Sirius' arrest, the Auror Department of Crime Proceeds froze all of his properties and monies. Fortunately for the Order, most people still trusted and believed in Dumbledore. He had defeated his old lover, Grindelward after all. So, the Aurors happily signed over the deeds to number 12 to Albus Dumbledore. As Harry had been named Sirius' heir, and Albus had appointed himself manager of Harry's vaults until the boy was of age, Albus had merely signed for Harry in lieu of gaining Sirius' permission.

The House of Black no longer belonged to them.

Albus sighed and ran a hand wearily over his face. "Severus has flooed me, informing me he will be unable to attend. Voldemort has ordered him to take care of business." A few members muttered mutinously at this. "Nonetheless, we will proceed."

"What about Harry?" Minerva called.

"And Remus?" Tonks added, still in love with the werewolf.

"The way to save Harry, I believe, is to defeat Voldemort." Some of the Order rolled their eyes, and others mumbled to themselves. "Voldemort created seven Horcruxes, including the soul within his own body. If we collect and destroy these items, Voldemort will be vulnerable and as easy to kill as any other human."

"So we have to destroy pieces of his soul?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked sceptically.

Albus smiled, "no, we destroy the item housing the soul fragment. I have narrowed it down. Slytherin's ring, and Slytherin's locket. The ring I have already taken care of. The locket is somewhere in this very house. An item of Helga Hufflepuff, in the possession of Bellatrix Lestrange at present."

"Problematic," Minerva scowled.

"An item of Ravenclaw's, somewhere within the walls of Hogwarts. Nagini of course is a Horcrux too. And, including Voldemort, the diary used to open the Chamber of Secrets briefly a few years ago and resurrect Voldemort makes seven. The diary was destroyed when it was put into use." He smiled at the faces of the Order members. They all looked horrified and daunted. Like they were being asked to perform an impossible task. "That leaves us with five to go."

He did not count the fragment lodged within Harry's scar. Knowing the Erlking, which Dumbledore thought he did, and being as possessive as the Erlking was, the piece of Voldemort's soul would have been removed and destroyed years ago. He was wrong however. The Erlking did not tempt the Fates: he merely did his job. If the Fates deigned that Harry was to belong to Voldemort, then the Erlking endeavoured to place Harry into the Dark Lord's hands – while making it seem like his choice, of course.

Dumbledore was unaware of this, and so, with his Order, they planned out how to gain and destroy seven pieces of a monster's soul. And then, how to rescues Harry Potter.

**XXX**

**Words:** N.A.

**Chapter 13**

**Come What May**

COMING SOON… In which The Erlking reappears, and we finally have some slash between our main pairing.

Thanks for reading, make me feel better by reviewing. There'll be 16 chapters in total, so I don't think I'm going to get the 412 reviews I wanted to beat WOLF but oh well.

Oh, go vote on the poll: either at my LJ or at my FFNet profile. Which fiction should I post after The Erlking (choice between HP/DM or FG/HP). I am not going to include a vote that is given in a review – it has to be on the poll.


	13. Come What May

Here is the next chapter

Here is the next chapter. I've finished my exams, so I'm trying my hand at pre-writing all of The Erlking, so it's finished and I can work on Indelible and Black Complication. Then I'll see about doing Soul Seeker and The Lambs, probably together. Depending on the poll, I might just do them together.

Indelible is planned up to chapter 14 at present.

FYI: Severus spends the weekends at Malfoy Manor.

**Words: ** 3,322

**Chapter 13**

**Come What May**

September 5th 1996.

The train to Hogwarts had left four days ago, and with it had gone Draco Malfoy. Harry, as of four days ago, was deprived of company his own age. Fenrir's pack was made up of adults now, as most of the children from their last meeting had grown, and there had been no more born since the Ministry had begun sterilising werewolves after Voldemort's defeat. The elder Malfoys were polite to Harry when they had to be, but mostly they ignored him. Sirius and Remus were rather involved with one another and Harry felt guilty whenever he intruded on their 'private time'. He had taken to leaving them alone.

Mostly, Harry spent his days in the company of Severus Snape.

It wasn't that he was ignoring Voldemort. But, rather, Voldemort had been ignoring him. Harry wasn't offended, he was rather used to 'normal' people avoiding him by now, and he could forgive Voldemort for the slight regardless because the elder Wizard was so tied up in the second war. While it had previously been about recruiting followers to fight, it was escalating at a rapid pace. Now it seemed, Dumbledore had grown tired of waiting for Voldemort to make the first move. It made Harry feel guilty – another emotion he had not felt much of in his short life – because he knew, he knew for sure no matter how the others tried to deny it, that Dumbledore was fighting so hard in the hopes of getting Harry back.

Often, Harry had woken to find Voldemort gone from the room. The elder Wizard was too tired, now, to even fight with Harry over sleeping in the bed. So Harry was allowed to sleep where he liked. Previously, Harry had woken before Tom, but not recently. Most days, Harry was sure Voldemort never went to bed at all.

Since the end of August, Dumbledore and the Order had been raiding as many manors as they could find. The moment a ward was breeched, the family in question were alerted and they fled. But that didn't stop the Order and the Aurors destroying the building, portraits, and attacking any servants they could find. By the time the Hogwarts Express was boarding, there were quiet a few families living in Malfoy Manor, but those adults avoided Harry too.

Harry had woken an hour ago. Tom was not in the bed this time either. A quick 'Tempus' showed the hour at 6 am. Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face.

His relationship with Tom wasn't really a relationship at present, but he assumed that Audenarde had meant for it to be. He couldn't fault Voldemort entirely; while the man was pushy and rude sometimes, it hadn't been like Harry was making an effort either. With a sad smile, Harry promised himself, that if Tom came to bed that night, Harry would lie down beside him.

"Hello Severus," Harry greeted softly. The other man was sitting in front of the lit fireplace in the library. He had a book laid open on his lap. "What are you reading?"

Severus showed him the front cover and Harry hummed. "I'm trying to see if there is a reason the Erlking was so willing you give you up." Severus had amazed himself by being more than polite to Harry each time they spoke. He had been outright nice even. Severus could always admit to himself that he had never been a nice person; his upbringing didn't allow for it. But since meeting Lily during his childhood, he had strived to be the best that he could be, for her. And, when in the presence of her son, the son of his nemesis James Potter, he did not see a shred of the father. Harry was all Lily's. He had been since the moment he had gone missing, and Severus had feared failing to protect the boy more than he had ever feared for his life.

Harry had taken it all in stride, even after Sirius had warned him that Severus was likely to be overly hostile. Sirius seemed to be the only person who had been shocked to find Severus carding his fingers through Harry's hair, minutes after Dumbledore had almost kidnapped the boy. Everyone else had expected something of the sort for some time.

"I know why." Harry said, taking a seat beside the Potions Master.

"Do elaborate," the man drawled with a raised eyebrow.

Harry merely shook his head. "It really wouldn't do me any favours to spill the secrets of others." He frowned. "Where is everyone?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus answered. "Parkinson's home was raided around 4 this morning. They've been gone around two hours now." He didn't try and offer comfort, or attempt to assure Harry that everyone would be 'fine', because it would be pointless and they both knew it.

Pointless, meaningless words had no place in Severus Snape's vocabulary, and Harry had always preferred it when people told him the truth. "They'll be back soon, then?" Severus nodded. In light of the fact that Harry wasn't willing to share information with him, he went back to reading his book.

Harry stayed with him, for around another hour, until a house elf appeared, summoning Harry to the throne room. Severus, as the resident Potions Master and Healer did not normally attend raids, or raid related meetings. Harry left Severus in the library, and following the house elf, made his way to the room. When the doors flew open, banging off the walls and presenting Harry to the view of those present in the room, he was no longer human. Instead he was Faun, dressed in a cloak of Dragon skin with rust coloured hair, like dried blood, running from his head and dripping down his back. He smirked, flashing his eyeteeth fangs, and raised his hood, hiding the two curved horns from view. He wore nothing beneath the cloak, but Dragon hide boots to his knees.

"Let's get this show on a roll." He said as he sauntered through the crowd, stopping to the left of Voldemort.

"**I thought we bought you clothing?**" He hissed jealously.

Harry smirked. "Clothes are restrictive, skin is not. I am more comfortable in my skin than most, apparently." Many of the Death Eaters blushed as he met their gazes; possibly from fear that the Dark Lords jealousy would be the death of them.

"We are attacking Hogsmeade." Voldemort drawled, allowing a hint of Parseltongue to creep into his accent and draw out the 'c' and 's' letters.

"Is it not a Hogsmeade weekend, my Lord?" Lucius interrupted from the right of the throne. Some of the followers looked worried about attacking their own children.

"We are not going to kill, or injure." Harry said, inferring what Voldemort meant. "You merely want them to fear that fact that you are able to attack so close to their precious school, and to Dumbledore."

"Clever boy," he praised, a hand reaching out to touch the pale white cheek. "Go, now." They apparated away, and landed at the outskirts of Hogsmeade Station. Ten minutes were spent breaking the wards so that they could apparate directly into the centre of the town, causing more of a commotion. During those ten minutes, Voldemort continued to rub Harry's check, still seated in his throne. "You are coming."

"That is why I look like this." His voice was flat.

The Dark Lord laughed softly, "and you'll make an impression." Harry smirked in reply. "Shall we join them?"

Harry tilted his head to one side, as if considering the question. In fact he was trying to determine the look Voldemort was giving him. It seemed part longing, and part afraid. But it wasn't fear of him, rather fear I_for_/I him, that he could be harmed. Harry smiled back faintly, seeing lust flare in the other man's red eyes. He leant forward, pressing a light kiss to Voldemort's lips. Voldemort's hand landed on Harry's shoulders, trying to draw the half-naked boy closer. The tighter the grip became, the less solid Harry became, until at last Voldemort was left panting and clutching at mist. Harry stood behind the mist, tantalizingly out of reach.

"Yes, let's join them." They apparated away, just as the wards fell. With a nod to the Death Eaters, Voldemort was the first to apparate into the town. Faun would go last.

_XXX_

Harry hadn't particularly wanted to hurt children. The Erlking only stole the souls of dying children or those who did not sleep at night, otherwise the Huntsmen left the young alone. Harry winced every time a spell was shot at a child. Instead, he had taken to scaring the adults who had attempted to fight off the Death Eaters. He had caught sight of Draco in time to push the blond out of the way of a cutting hex. Voldemort had heard Harry's cry of pain, and had apparated Harry back to Malfoy Manor. The Death Eaters continued to attack under Lucius' command until he, too, apparated away. The others, obediently, followed him.

Voldemort brought Harry to their bedroom. It was only 10 in the morning, just over four hours since Harry had woken up, and he was back in bed already. He chuckled faintly. He healed fast so he didn't see what Voldemort was all worked up about. The hex wouldn't have even hurt that much except that it caught him as he was moving, causing the cut to be deeper and longer than it would have been otherwise, (say if he had been Draco, and taken from behind).

There was a faint pink line running horizontally across his chest and to his right arm. He had landed on his arm, and the jarring motion had been what had made him cry out. Voldemort stroked the scar, watching fascinated as it faded away until the skin was a smooth unblemished white. He waved his hand and Harry's boots and clock disappeared. With a smile, Harry was no longer Faun, and he smirked as Voldemort entangled a hand in his short black hair and pulled him into a kiss.

"Don't leave this time." Voldemort breathed out, pulling back. "I couldn't bare it."

"I was going to sleep in the bed tonight anyway," Harry promised with a soft laugh. He pushed Voldemort's robes down off the man's shoulders. With a clucking sound, Voldemort scowled at Harry before removing his clothing with magic. "Impatient, are we?"

"I need you." He breathed against Harry's neck, panting. Harry scoffed lightly. He had only been there for five weeks, but then again, considering Voldemort had wanted him from the first time they met Harry did suppose it had been a long time to wait.

"Do you want me Marvolo?" Harry asked, spreading his legs wide beneath the other man's body. Voldemort licked his lips and growled possessively. Their lips met again, a tangle of lust and passion and wetness that was delicious and sweet. When they pulled back, Harry whimpered from the loss.

"I want you," he frowned, "the question is do you want me?" He pulled back, watching Harry's face intently for a truthful answer.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Harry whispered honestly, his cheeks flushing. "I want you, but I've never-"

Voldemort smirked at him: his mouth wide from glee and his eyes shining with possessiveness. "Good," he simply said, and pressed his hips against Harry's.

Voldemort's hand shimmied down between their chests, stopping to pinch at Harry's nipples. Each tug and twist caused the younger boy to arch from the bed, a soft cry falling from his lips as he wriggled his hips begging for attention. Voldemort pressed his hand to Harry's hips, keeping him flat against the bed and at the elder man's mercy. When his fingers finally reached their goal, between Harry's legs, he summoned lubricant. Harry bit his lip to stifle a gasp as something wet and cold brushed against his entrance.

He had been touched there, numerously, but he had never been prepared before, as the Erlking had never intended to penetrate him. It had usually been a finger inside of him, rubbing his prostate while more fingers wrapped around his cock and pleasured him. Harry wriggled, the lube cold and uncomfortable inside of him. Voldemort chuckled and cast a warming spell, heating the fluid until it was not so cold anymore. Harry stopped squirming, and instead arched off the bed again as Voldemort pushed two fingers into him at once.

With a moan, he thrust against them, begging for more. It stung, of course it did, but never let it be said that the beloved boy ever complained about anything in the bedroom. He took what was given. And he loved it.

The fingers scissored, stretching the hole to accommodate a third finger, which pressed into him moments later. Harry panted, as he raised his head, lips pursed. Voldemort smiled and swept down to capture them in a sweet, slow kissed as he deliberately teased the boy's prostate.

"I'm ready, I'm ready." He panted, pleading with the Dark Lord. "Please, just be inside of me."

The fingers withdrew. Another quickly cast spell had slicked up the elder Wizard's arousal. Shaking fingers positioned himself at Harry's entrance, before he thrust inside. Half of him winced when Harry screamed out, and the other half delighted perversely in the boy's minor pain. Deep breaths soon pushed the pain away and calmed his breathing. Smiling softly up at the face of Lord Voldemort, Harry raised his hips in invitation, and Voldemort accepted. He set a brutal pace for someone's first time. Skin slapped together loudly as their hips met with each thrust, sweat poured off of both bodies as arms wrapped around necks and fingers tangled into hair, pulling their faces together so their lips could bruise one another's.

Harry shook, his back arched as pleasure raced up his spine and through all of his nerve endings. With a hoarse cry, he came, Voldemort's name erupting from his mouth much the same way as his seed left his penis. He panted and lay back, placidly allowing the Dark Lord to fuck him a while longer. With a cry of his own, Voldemort followed Harry into orgasm, collapsing bonelessly on the smaller man.

"That was amazing," Harry breathed and Voldemort chuckled.

"I lo- like you," he murmured against Harry's neck. Though he couldn't see it, Harry raised an eyebrow at him. Harry had, of course, heard the slip, but he was kind enough to let it pass until Voldemort was comfortable enough with the feelings to actually want to share them.

Instead, Harry settled for, "I like you too."

They didn't sleep. Rather they lay together, Voldemort on top of Harry still, for the next three hours. They merely held onto each other, with Voldemort kissing Harry's neck once in a while and Harry smirking at the top of Voldemort's head.

_XXX_

September 19th 1996.

Harry continued to sleep in the same bed as Voldemort, though they did not copulate every night. And neither were the encounters as intimate as the first. While Harry was awake, Voldemort was hesitant to show positive emotion or even admit to himself that he did in fact love the other boy. But Harry allowed him his denial. It would have been too much hassle to argue about it, and it wasn't like Harry was even sure if he loved Voldemort, let alone wanted Voldemort to tell him he was loved.

It was that morning, both were rudely awakened, tired from their love making the night before and rather cranky at the intruder. Beside the bed, shaking with fear, was Narcissa Malfoy.

"The Manor is under siege my Lord. Lucius and Severus are strengthening the wards, but they need your help." She whispered, flinching as Voldemort bolted upright in the bed. His eyes narrowed.

"I'll be there momentarily."

"They're in the Observatory." She whispered, bowing and leaving the room to help her husband.

Harry was already standing and dressed by this point. With a frown, Voldemort reached out to run his fingers through Harry's hair, but dropped his hand to his side at the last second. Harry turned to him and smiled, "can I help?"

"No. Not in this. Just keep safe, I don't want to worry about you." Harry scoffed. He watched Voldemort dress, meticulously making himself presentable for people who were trying to kill him. They left the room together. The first person they came across was Fenrir Greyback. Voldemort pushed Harry towards the werewolf. He growled, "Mind him," and strode away, leaving the other two staring after him and scowling.

Harry watched as the Death Eaters appeared across the lawn, each cloaked in black and flying into battled with the pink robed Aurors and the red and gold Order members. Voldemort was in the thick of it, desperately helping his followers prevent the 'good guys' from entering the Manor – the only safe house they had left.

In the corner of the room, the Erlking stood shrouded in mist and fog. Ivy climbed up the hem of his robes, before stretching out to catch the wall and climb up them as well. Audenarde smiled softly, his red eyes flashing from beneath the darkness of his cowl. His horns were hidden, as well as his long black hair. The human scalps that decorated the collar of his robe were starting to malt; and with a sigh, Audenarde decided he might need to acquire some new hairpieces soon.

The Erlking seemed to float across the ground; the train of his robe brushing off the floor but his feet seemed to only touch the ever-present mist. He paused by the window, beside Harry, who was so focused on the battle that he did not notice the presence of his previous master.

Audenarde smiled, and reached out a hand to tangle in Harry's hair. The hand went straight through the boy and the Erlking smiled in a mocking, scornful manner. At present, his fate and Harry's were no longer intertwined. To protect their interests, the Fates were prohibiting him from reaching out to his beloved boy. Apparently, Harry was needed in the presence of Voldemort, and the Fates would allow nothing to change that.

Audenarde smiled. He knew what was to happen. He just needed time and patience, both of which he had in endless quantities especially when it came to things he greatly desired to possess. With one more longing glance at Harry, his eyes turned to stare out of the window, watching as Voldemort weaved and ducked, every curse missing him through luck and his own duelling skills. He snorted, listening to Harry's fearful cries and gasps as Voldemort barely missed a killing curse.

Mortals were idiots, he knew. He didn't know why he expected differently here. They should have know that destroying a body would not destroy a soul, especially since the Order members, at least, had begun the process of collecting and destroying Horcruxes. Two had been destroyed. Not counting Harry that left four to go, along with the piece of soul still residing in Voldemort's body.

While it was true Voldemort had split his soul seven times, he did not make seven Horcruxes purposely. Harry may have been the seventh, but he was not intended, nor known about. Voldemort had planned to use an object of Gryffindor as his seventh Horcrux, using the death of all three Potters' as the sacrifice to tear his soul into pieces again. Instead, his soul had been torn from his body, and the piece that had been cut away – instead of being destroyed like he thought it had – it had lodged itself within Harry Potter.

And when Harry had fulfilled his purpose for the Fates and for Voldemort, he would belong, as he always had, to the Erlking. As did everyone in death.

**XXX**

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

The next chapter will be up soon, I hope. (If I actually get around to pre-writing every thing before I post this one – May 16th). I have chapter 14 done now as well (18th May).

Hehe I had this pre-written but not posted, and someone said they couldn't wait for the slash and I was like "didn't I do the slash already?" and I checked FFNET and there was no slash… I was soooo worried that I'd done something wrong and deleted chapters. Oops!


	14. Cataclysm

I had forgotten how much I hated Deathly Hallows, until I had to skim through it to find all the information I needed to destr

a href"k155-me./" target"blank"img src"img./albums/v475/k155me/Erlking.jpg" border"0" alt"The Erlking by Aisling"/a

I had forgotten how much I hated Deathly Hallows, until I had to skim through it to find all the information I needed to destroy the Horcruxes. And now I'll have to go through similar hassle for INDELIBLE, and possibly for SOUL SEEKER unless I change my mind about that chapter.

Hate Horcruxes too. There will be no Deathly Hallows in THE ERLKING.

Short chapter, I know, but it's only really about the Horcruxes and how much can you write about stabbing them with a sword?

**Words: ** 2,871

**Chapter 14**

**Cataclysm**

October 9th 1996.

There are some people in the world who believe everything they hear, and then there are others who must question everything they hear but yet never fully believe in it. And then, those like Dumbledore, just know things from the moment they hear them, they know it to be true or untrue. Such was the case when Dumbledore heard Voldemort had attempted to split his soul a seventh time. Dumbledore knew that was the truth. However, when told that the Horcrux had failed, had been destroyed along with Voldemort's body because of Harry Potter, Dumbledore had known that to be false. There was a seventh Horcrux. Eight pieces of a soul, if the fragment housed within Voldemort's own body was included, and Dumbledore had destroyed two of them.

The third lay flat, in the palm of his left hand.

It was a thick gold chain, and it was coiled around a pendant the size of a chicken egg. The pendant had an ornate 's' carved onto it, filled with many small green stones. The stones shimmered as Dumbledore twisted his wrist, rotating his hand, so he could view the locket from different angles.

It was a locket that hung of the chain, Dumbledore knew that, but he just could not get it to open. With a sigh, he laid the locket, Slytherin's locket, on the floor of the room he was standing in. He was in his office in Hogwarts, and from the wall facing his desk he took down Gryffindor's sword. He gave a faint smile as the ruby caught the light, and then he brought the point of the sword down on the locket, lying innocently on the floor. The seemingly harmless locket gave a violent shriek, a cry of pain emanating from the object itself as it cracked open, and a viscous black fluid began to seep from it like blood.

It was more like tar than blood, and Dumbledore took a step back so it would not touch him. He had been lucky with the last one. Minerva had cried out to him as he was about to slip Gaunt's ring onto his finger, and coming to his senses he had thrown it from him until he had regained control over himself. He had destroyed it, and managed not to die from a horrible curse.

When the black substance stopped seeping forth, there was a small flash of white light and Dumbledore could swear Harry was standing before him, flanked on either side by his parents.

James snarled at him. "You failed us, you failed Harry."

"You let us die!" Lily cried, wringing her hands in front of her."

"He'll kill you, you know." Harry whispered sounding like a lost little child. "He'll kill me when he realizes I'm not a Horcrux anymore."

Of course, they weren't really there; Dumbledore knew that. Tom Riddle's soul was clinging to any last chance it could find and that included weakening the morale of its destroyer in the hopes of overtaking the other body. But Dumbledore would not let Tom take possession of him, not like he did to Ginny Weasley.

It was wrong that Harry was no longer a Horcrux, he was. Dumbledore however, as good as he was at knowing whether things others told him were true or false, he was not very good when it came to believing things he had said. He believed that the Erlking would have removed the Horcrux, so as to have full possession of Harry, but he thought wrong. If someone else had come up with that idea, he might have realized how foolish it would be, and realized how pointless it would have then been to give the boy – minus the Horcrux – to Voldemort. But because Dumbledore, himself, had said it, he had believed it to be right without further consideration.

That was foolish of him.

The ghostly figures of the Potters disappeared, along with their whispered accusations. There were four more Horcruxes to go. Albus Dumbledore, however, believed there to be three left.

_XXX_

October 11th 1996.

It had been difficult to gain possession of the fourth Horcrux. Bellatrix Lestrange had hid Helga Hufflepuff's cup away inside of the Lestrange family vault. Eventually, Dumbledore had come up with a plan that was brilliant beyond belief and more than worthy of executing. First, they had drawn the Death Eaters out with more attacks on the family manors of Dark Wizards. Then, with their sights set on any of the three Lestranges (that were freed from Azkaban, with Sirius Black) all the members of the Order cast an 'accio' simultaneously. The only one to let go of their wand was Rabastan, the youngest.

With the wand in their possession, the Order had set about choosing one of their own to fool the Gringotts Goblins. After casting various glamour charms on different members of the order, it was decided that Neville Longbottom deserved the chance. Neville's parents had been driven to insanity by the Lestranges' and were never going to recover. He had joined the Order the second Voldemort had returned. Without Harry around, the Order had made do with the B**other**/B Prophecy child.

When Neville returned from Gringotts, he was shaking from head to toe. "I think they almost figured it out. I was attacked walking out of the doors. I ran," he added with a bashful shrug. He held the cup out to Dumbledore.

Albus left the room with it, the sword of Gryffindor in his other hand. The cup was small and golden, with two handles and a little badger engraved on the front side. When Albus returned ten minutes later, he had neither artefacts with him.

Ravenclaw's diadem was next, and Albus had a very good idea where it was.

_XXX_

It was faint, but it was there. A soft niggling feeling in the back of your mind, telling you something was wrong or that you've forgotten about something. But no matter how long the feeling lasts, you never quite seem to recall what the feeling was about.

Voldemort was experiencing something similar, and it had been happening for a few days now. First it was just a tingling sensation up and down his arms, like pins and needles. Harry would smile as he complained about the feeling, and would rub his arms softly. Then his head would throb, just lightly, only enough to mildly annoy him but not cause him any actual pain. But after four continuous days it was starting to become a painful inconvenience. Harry would again smile, and massage his temples.

Then it had begun to get worse. As he slept, he dreamt of black tar, seeping forward from the darkness around the edges of his minds eye, trying to choke him. Where it came from, he was sure he should know, but the thought always eluded him. It was important; he knew that also, but why. Why was it important? That was what he didn't know, but it was also what he I_needed_/I to know.

His temper was suffering for it. It was shorter than it used to be, and more often than not a Death Eater would suffer a Cruciatus rather than just a verbal tongue lashing because Voldemort was having bad feelings. They had quickly learnt not to test his patience overly.

Harry brushed the matter away. They had plenty of other things to worry about, and "if it was that important, you'll remember eventually," he insisted with another soft smile. Voldemort briefly thought he could become addicted to Harry's smiles, and Harry's kisses and touches and everything about the boy. The longer they spent together the closer Voldemort came to admitting to them both that he was in love with the younger Wizard.

But now wasn't the time.

_XXX_

October 15th 1996.

Helena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady ghost of Ravenclaw tower had led Albus to the next Horcrux. After stealing it, and hiding it in a hollow tree in a forest in Albania, then being killed by a jealous would-be-lover, she had betrayed her secret to a charming young man named Tom Riddle, who had searched for the diadem, found it and hidden it within the walls of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore stood outside the door to the Room of Requirements. He had asked for 'somewhere to hide something', and he hoped what the room had provided would be adequate. He opened the door and went inside.

An hour later, after calling in a few members of the Order to help him search, they had found an old, discoloured tiara perched on the top of a bust of Ravenclaw. Dumbledore removed it reverently and with a resigned sigh, cast, "fiendfyre!" The cursed flames leapt to life, consuming the tiara but strangely not catching onto Dumbledore's hand or clothing. He remained totally unharmed, even as the other Order members ran for the door, the flames, in the shape of mythical creatures, chased after them.

Again the black tar-like substance burst forth from the diadem, as with a shriek of agony, the headdress split in half falling to the floor with twin thuds. Dumbledore left the room unharmed, and closed the door, allowing the Fiendfyre to burn itself out.

In Malfoy Manor, Voldemort collapsed to the floor half way through a Death Eater meeting. His hand flew to clutch at his forehead and an agonized scream tore its way out of his throat. Harry was by his side in an instant, and his presence brought Voldemort relief.

"My Lord?" One or two of the braver Death Eaters called out. He gave a groan, and tried to stand, refusing to look weak in front of his followers.

Harry turned his head to look at them, but his eyes were fixed upon Voldemort's crumpled form. "Leave us."

Remus remained with them, at Harry's side, as always. "Something is wrong."

"So it would seem," Harry answered non-committally. Perhaps the pain would jump-start Voldemort's memories?

_XXX_

As Ravenclaw's diadem was destroyed the Erlking stood silently in the doorway, watching the flames climb higher and higher, trapped within the room. He smirked a little, and allowed a chuckled to escape from his throat as the Order members began to run for their lives. Yet Dumbledore remained behind. Perhaps, Audenarde thought, he truly did not fear death. Or was there something he was not sharing?

A few students wandered past the room, but a handy notice-me-not charm kept them from being overly curious. They walked past, and around the corner just as Dumbledore left the room. He shut the door, a tired smile on his face, and nodded to the Order members. Severus Snape was tense, while Minerva and Kingsley were elated. They were that much closer to defeating Voldemort and rescuing Harry!

Severus didn't know what that tiara was, nor what it symbolised but he knew there was something bad happening. He also knew that, as soon as possible, he should inform the Dark Lord.

He excused himself, and as he was walking away he heard Dumbledore whispered to himself. Once sentence, but it sent shivers up his spine nonetheless. "Just Nagini left, Tom, and then it'll be over."

The Erlking watched Severus walk away, but he did not try and stop him. No, let the man tattle, it would not make a difference in the long run. It was too late to save the Horcruxes and it was too dangerous to make more. Voldemort would just have to be clever and realize what Dumbledore did not. Audenarde chuckled again, pulling his hood up to cover his head and face. He wondered, firstly if Harry would tell Voldemort he was a Horcrux, and secondly, if not, if Voldemort would figure it out before it was too late.

_XXX_

Voldemort had relocated to his bedroom with Harry and Remus' help. They lay him gently down onto the bed and Harry immediately crawled over to lie beside him. Voldemort lovingly ran his fingers through Harry's hair, sighing exhaustedly.

"I need to find out what's happening." He whispered to Harry, though he knew Remus could hear him clearly. It was one of the perks of being a werewolf.

"You need to rest." Harry replied with a frown.

Before anymore could be said, a knock came at the door. Remus answered it as he knew very well that Harry was far too comfortable to be bothered to move. Lucius Malfoy stood, looking utterly nervous, with Severus beside him. "He has news for our Lord." Lucius said.

Remus allowed the both in, and sat at the edge of the bed without a word. Severus began to speak. "I told Albus you had called me, Sir." Voldemort just nodded. He was too weary to speak. His head still throbbed. "Albus, Minerva, Kingsley and I were searching a hidden room in Hogwarts for a tiara earlier. Albus said it once belonged to Ravenclaw." Voldemort sat up straighter, his mouth falling open, eyes wide with fear and horror. Harry and Lucius looked worriedly at him. Severus continued to speak, he hoped to finish before he lost his nerve or was punished. "When I was leaving, I heard him say that Nagini was all that was left before it was over. My Lord?" He asked hesitantly.

"No," Voldemort breathed. "It can't be. How could he have known?"

"About the Horcruxes?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. As one of those who collect the souls of the dead and the dying Harry was rather disappointed in himself for not realizing what was happening had to do with items used to avoid death. The items contained pieces of soul, and Harry was annoyed that he had been so caught up in this new life that he had not felt the souls dying. Maybe, he mused, it was because there wasn't enough of a soul to feel?

"How did you-?" Voldemort asked before shaking his head. "Severus, go back to the school. Lucius, you will accompany me." Severus bowed and left the room. Despite Harry's protests, Voldemort rose from the bed, and with a hand on Lucius' shoulder for support they left the room together.

He knew his diary had been destroyed; there was no question about it. So first, they headed to Little Hangleton. The village his filthy Muggle father had lived in before his death. The cottage across the road from Riddle Manor was their destination. But in spite of a very thorough search using magical and Muggle means, neither Wizard managed to find the Slytherin heirloom ring. Dumbledore had already destroyed it. An owl was sent to Gringotts. A return letter arrived as they apparated to their next location. It informed Voldemort that Rabastan Lestrange had taken the golden cup from his vault, but that the Goblins also believed the man to be an impostor but it had been too late to stop him by that point. Voldemort was not impressed, to put it lightly.

Their next location was the top of a cliff at a small beach over looking the sea. Without help this time, Voldemort climbed down into the mouth of a small cave, the blond following him. With a whispered word a small cut appeared on his palm. Voldemort pressed the cut to the wall before him, smearing the blood across the stone. The wall slid out of the way, allowing the two Wizards passage beyond it. They came to a small lake, its water churned violently as they approached a small wooden boat moored at the edge of the lake.

The water was murky and Lucius sneered in distaste as he followed his Lord into the boat. They reached the small island in the centre of the lake in minutes, and with another whispered spell, Voldemort levitated a golden locket, on a thick gold chain, out of the silver chalice filled with some kind of potion. "I would have to drink that, if it were anyone but me." He remarked as Lucius looked on curiously.

Voldemort was rather pleased with himself. If he had the locket, that meant Dumbledore was wrong. There was more than just Nagini standing between the two of them.

Reverently, Voldemort tried to pry the locket open. If it did not open, he would be safe, for long enough to finally defeat the interfering old man. If it opened, however, well –

The moment the locket popped open and a slip of paper, that had not been there when Voldemort had last held the locket, fell to the floor, Voldemort let out a blood-curdling scream. The scream echoed off the walls of the small cave, and the lake water burbled and crashed violently against the little wooden boat. Lucius moved to the boat and sat in it, hoping to escape his master's wrath. Voldemort continued to scream. The locket had fallen to the floor, and Voldemort dropped to his knees beside it, roaring out his anger.

How the locket was taken, Voldemort would never know, and the thief was very unlikely to ever share that secret. His eyes focused on the words on the paper that had fluttered down by his knee. It read, 'prepare for the next great adventure'.

The little piece of paper was signed 'A. D.'

**XXX**

Thanks for reading… off to the next chapter, eventually.

In other news, The Lambs look like it will win by well over 20 votes, so I have the first chapter written for when I finish The Erlking. Here is a teaser.

_The elderly man runs his fingers over the boys face and head, his own eyes sliding shut. With a nod he raised his hands to the sky and curled his fingers inwards. Clouds gathered above his head and the rain began to pour, but it fell only on the child. When the rain stopped, Harry was soaked to the bone, but he did not shiver. Instead Harry giggled lightly, and waved his arms above his head copying the older male. The clouds come back, but instead of rain, lightening flashes above their heads. Once bolt fell suddenly, and struck Harry dead on the forehead. The boy stopped moving, and the clouds dispersed._

"He is Elemental." The old man said softly. Lily ran forward, disregarding the rules of the ceremony and picked her child up. She shook him gently in her arms until he stirred. As an Elemental, their element had no power to harm them, but he had still been struck by lightening and she was his mother. She had a right to worry. Harry wailed as he opened his eyes and Lily ran her fingers over the cut on his forehead. She closed her eyes, willing the power of the earth to flow up through her feet and into her fingers. With a smile, she opened her eyes in time to watch the skin knit itself up, closing the wound and leaving only a lightening bolt shaped scar. She lay him back down on the table.

_Harry continued to wail. As he cried thunder rumbled and the light began to fade. Out of nowhere the moon appeared, bright and full and it blotted out the sun. Those who were gathered to watch the ceremony screamed as rain began to pelt them, followed by hailstones. It was pitch black and while they ran around screaming, the elderly man only laughed. "Oh, he is powerful," he cried to the full moon, "he will do great things." _

That was a rather long teaser… Am thinking of cutting it…


	15. Going To War

Here is the next chapter. I would like to warn you all (despite the fact that I'd hate to ruin the ending) there is a major character death in this chapter. But, the epilogue will have a happy ending… well, happy for me.

**Words: **3,544

**Chapter 15**

**Going To War**

January 1997. 3 months later.

Since the attacks began on the homes of Dark families, Malfoy Manor had been filled with noise and excitement. Not since before then, had it ever been as quiet as it was now. Where there would have been laughter from the children too young to attend Hogwarts or chatter from the adults as they ate and drank and plotted, there was only silence.

In the last few months many people had wondered through the halls, though none of them ran their fingers over the portraits like Harry did. Children had run around playing Quidditch, joking and shoving each other, while Lucius had looked on with a scowl on his face. Comments of "Draco never behaved in such a plebeian manner" had Harry giggling to himself.

There were no children there now. Nor were there any adults to frown at them, or clustered in groups gossiping about how long their seclusion would last.

There was only Harry.

And the Erlking.

Harry sighed, brushing his fingers over the face of Lucius' father's portrait. Abraxas Malfoy snarled at him, and curled up on himself in the corner of his frame to get away. The boy only chuckled coldly. Isolation always had the effect of making his act oddly, coldly. Fire danced at Harry's fingertips as he lent forward to brush the portrait again. Changing his mind at the last minute, amid screams of Abraxas for him to halt, Harry dropped his arm to his sides.

The Erlking watched on with a fond look upon his cruel face. The man within the monster was happy at present. Men had gone to war, most would, hopefully, not return, and they had left him here alone with his beloved boy. Though Harry did not know it. The Erlking still could not touch his Harry; the Fates were persistent in their wishes for the two not to interact. But, because he could not touch, did not mean he could not just look. And look, the Erlking did.

His eyes never left Harry's form. Not even when five house elves appeared, sobbing and crying and capturing Harry's attention.

"Yous must be coming with us, Master Faun!" One cried.

They others sobbed, tugging at his dragon skin cloak. Leather pants covered his lower half from few, though he chose to go shirtless. "Please be following us to the dungeons, Master sir!" Another cried as they tried to tug him forward.

"We has been told to protect all young masters. Yous must be coming to the dungeon with us, Master."

"We's be keeping you safe!" They cried, still tugging at Harry's clothes. With a fond smile, the boy allowed the creatures to drag him deeper into Malfoy Manor. He remained hidden away with the children in the deepest dungeon, with the house elves standing guard.

It had been so quiet, with no one talking or laughing or playing. When the silence was finally broken, Harry was too far underground to hear it.

The Order members had launched one last ditch attempt to break into Malfoy Manor and seize Harry. They had assumed it must be where Harry was being kept prisoner, because it was the only Dark Manor that had not breeched yet. They were determined to find Harry, to rescue and protect him. As misguided as they were, the Erlking could not fault Dumbledore's noble intentions. He did, honestly, want to protect Harry.

But, as they say, even noble intentions lead to Hell.

The Erlking watched them, finally leaving Harry's side. He stood at one of the windows in the second floor. He looked down upon the insignificant mortals who were foolish enough to wage a war they could not win. They were attempting to defeat the Dark, but it was futile. There would always be Dark. There must be, for without the Darkness, no one would see the Light. Both were equal halves of the other; they both needed each other to exist. One without the other would cease to be.

It was stupid to fight for something so fruitless.

But the Erlking did not interfere, he merely watched them and if one fell he would gather their soul close to his chest and carry them back to the Eternal Lodge to serve him for eternity.

Fortunately for the Order, there was no one at the Manor to fight them off, so none of them were killed. None of them had to forfeit their souls to the Erlking.

"Come on," Kinsley Shacklebolt shouted. "We just need to get inside, find Harry and get out."

"There's no one here!" Hesita Jones cried. "Where are they all?"

Squabbles broke out. Each person wanted to be the one to tell another where the Death Eaters were. It ranged from "hibernating like the snakes they are," to "maybe they're afraid of us?" Each suggestion was as ridiculous as the next, and eventually Kingsley grew irritated.

"Shut up!" He roared, "I don't care where they are. We came to get Potter. If we are attacked along the way, we will fight back, and if we are not attacked, we will thank Merlin for small mercies. Is that understood?"

The others nodded. The Order members were present, but none of the teachers or Dumbledore himself, for they were at Hogwarts. The Order members had made it to the entrance hallway, bypassing the wards and protection spells, before a Phoenix Patronus swooped towards them. Its wings were spread wide as it soared over their heads, turned and soared back again. It's mouth opened and Albus' voice came out. "The Death Eaters are attacking the Ministry! Leave Harry, and aid us." The Patronus disappeared once it had finished relaying the message.

The Order members looked towards Kinsley, and with a nod from the dark black man they all apparated to the telephone box outside the Ministry building. "Why didn't we arrive at the atrium?"

"What if the Death Eaters were watching for us? Stupid," someone hissed at the person who spoke.

Each of them squeezed into the telephone box and whispered, "Order of the Phoenix, here to protect the Ministry," and eight little badges popped out at them. Taking a deep breath, Kingsley shut the door and closed his eyes as the telephone box began to sink into the ground.

"Ministry of Magic, first floor, general enquires, reception, the fountain of magical integration. Enjoy your stay." A voice called as they hurriedly left the telephone box.

They had been expecting screaming and shouting, to have to duck from the hexes being sent their way, but they were greeted by silence. It was unnerving, and heavy, pressing against their hearts and making their throats constrict in fear. "Where is everyone?" Hesita Jones breathed.

Before anyone could answer her, she was swept away by a flash of green light. Directly behind her stood a man masked and robes, and his grinning mouth was the only part of him visible. "Avada Kedavra," he called again and another Order member fell. Three more Death Eaters appeared, and they made short work of the Order. Kinsley was saved until last.

He trembled, his wand held in front of him as the Death Eaters removed their masks. Three of them worked as Aurors, under his supervision, and it made Kinsley sick to think he had helped train these murderers. "Where is everyone, Dawson?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"The Ministry fell easily. You just missed the last few who resist. Dumbledore and the like have left for Hogwarts, but they wont be safe there much longer." The Death Eaters nudged each other and laughed.

"Avada Kedavra," Rudolphus Lestrange hissed, and Kingsley dropped silently to the ground. "Let us go."

_XXX_

The Ministry truly had fallen quickly. Cornelius Fudge was still in power and he had been very easy to kill. Lucius had merely walked into the office complaining about Arthur Weasley (who was dead now) and Fudge had not suspected that anything was amiss. Lucius took a seat at the desk and nodded when Fudge offered him tea. The blond patriarch sipped from his cup and smirked coldly as Fudge placed his teacup back down on the desk. "Avada Kedavra."

Fudge fell off of his chair, hitting the ground with a thump; his hand knocked the teacup over spilling the contents all over whatever documents were on the table. Lucius stood and calmly made his way from the room. He approached another, smaller office and pointed his wand inside.

"Imperio!" Under-staff Thicknesse stiffened and stood from the chair. He turned to face Lucius and bowed slightly. "You are Minister for Magic but you will only do what Lord Voldemort approved." Lucius left that office as well. He walked calmly to the main atrium, leaned into one of the fireplaces and whispered, "Malfoy Manor." He dropped the handful of floo power and the fireplace sprung to life.

As Lucius pulled his head out, Death Eaters began to stream from the fireplace, followed by Voldemort himself. "Let's get this over with," the Dark Lord said while rubbing his temple. This war had gone on for far too long. It had long become a nuisance rather than a necessity.

They had succeeded in killing those who were adamantly opposed to them, and in convincing those others that their way was the **right** way. It had been going rather well, most of their opposition was absent. The Order was at Malfoy Manor shortly after they left, though they did not know this. And Dumbledore was at Hogwarts.

Until he appeared behind Minister Thicknesse and cast a strangulation hex, killing the man. "Well, that's bothersome." Lucius muttered looking down on the corpse.

"Albus," Voldemort hissed with a smirk. "How nice of you to come visit my Ministry."

"It is not yours Tom," the older Wizard protested, raising his wand.

Voldemort chuckled lightly, and raised an eyebrow. "But I do believe it is." He fired off a spell, and Dumbledore retaliated. The Death Eaters left them to it. They busied themselves making sure that everything was now under their control, and that included finding a new Minister. Twenty minutes passed before Dumbledore cried, "Expecto Patronum," and a Phoenix burst from his wand. It flew towards the window, capturing the attention of the Dark Side. Dumbledore used the opportunity to run for the nearest fireplace. He flooed to Hogwarts, determined to protect the castle.

Voldemort, unlike the others, did not look at the Phoenix. Instead, he watched, a slow smirk spreading across his face, as Dumbledore flooed away. Here was the best part, the reason Voldemort was smiling. Dumbledore had left the floo open.

"You four, remain here. Kill anyone acting suspiciously." Rudolphus was among the three Aurors told to stay at the Ministry. They all bowed, and watched Voldemort floo away. The other Death Eaters followed him.

When they arrived at Hogwarts Dumbledore was nowhere in sight. Voldemort frowned but pushed the issue from his mind. He summoned the Werewolves, and soon afterwards felt them apparated to the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Students and Teachers alike screamed in fear as Voldemort pushed the double doors to the great hall open. He strode in, followed by an army of masked Wizards and Werewolves. He snorted; all that was missing was Faun.

He debated, silently, whether it was safe yet. But he knew without Dumbledore there the staff members didn't stand a chance. "Lucius return and fetch Faun." The blond man nodded, and with a quick glance towards the Slytherin table, and his son, he swept from the room.

Barely minutes later, Lucius swept back into the hall. He looked furious, and so he had a right to be. People had broken into his Manor and disabled his wards. He would have been even angrier if he had known that Dumbledore had followed him home. Fenrir was pacing back and forth in front of the Gryffindor table, occasionally snapping at the heels of one or two students who shrieked in fright. He was human at present, but everyone knew he was a Werewolf. The Slytherins did look slightly afraid, more than likely by the thought of being surrounded by Werewolves, but they weren't about to shit their pants like the rest of the people in the Great Hall.

Faun entered the room, and everyone's attention was on him. Voldemort licked his lips appreciatively as his eyes travel over Harry's half naked body. Once again, he was dressed in his dragon skin cloak; the hood was down, exposing the dangerously curved horns to everyone's view. He was bare-footed and bare-chested, but he wore a pair of doeskin trousers that were cut off above his knees.

Sirius and Remus waved lightly as Harry's gazed travelled over them. Faun smirked, nodding at Fenrir and Draco in turn, before sauntering forward. He took his place to Voldemort's left; an arm encircled the Dark Lord's waist before he drew the Wizard down for a kiss. The entire Hall grew silent. Faun's rust coloured hair turned black, and began to shorten so it was above his shoulders rather than hang below. The horns disappeared and a lightening bolt-shaped scar was easily visible on his forehead. Harry stepped back from Voldemort and looked over the Hall.

Someone caught sight of his scar and gasped, "Harry Potter!"

"Save us Harry Potter!" Someone else screamed, obviously not having grasped that Harry was the same person who had been kissing Voldemort seconds beforehand. Faun just chuckled.

"What shall we do with them?" He asked, his hips swaying slightly as the prospect of a hunt got him excited.

"What ever you like my love, though I would prefer the desirable ones to join us."

"Never!" Came the unanimous cry from the Gryffindor table. Fenrir began to snarl and snap at them again, and they dissolved into fearful shrieks and tears once more. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw remained silent.

"None of them will join you, Tom." Voldemort looked up and snarled. Standing in the doorway was Albus Dumbledore. He held something in his hands, which were tightly clasped together, and when Voldemort concentrated he could sense a shrinking charm. His eyes narrowed as they met Dumbledore's eyes. "Do you not wonder where I've been?"

Tom merely nodded.

"Lucius I really must thank you, for if you had not returned to Malfoy Manor, I may not have found it in time." The blond scowled. Dumbledore released whatever it was in his hands, and cast the counter spell. The snake grew until she was her normal size and she hissed menacingly at Dumbledore. The old man did not react.

"Nagini," Voldemort whispered. He knew what Dumbledore intended to do, but he couldn't make himself move. It was like he was frozen in place, turned to stone by fear and desperation. He could not lose his last Horcrux.

Gryffindor's sword was held above Dumbledore's head for a brief instant before it was brought down on Nagini with a sickening noise. It sliced the cobra's head off, and it bounced across the hall to land at Voldemort's feet.

As his Horcrux was destroyed, Voldemort felt as if someone had thrust their hand through his chest and was attempting to rip his heart out. He cried out, unaware that he was the one screaming. He fell to the ground, his hand pressed over his heart as his breathing came in sharp pants. His most trusted gathered towards him, worrying for him. Faun waved them off, and they returned to their standing positions. Harry looked down at the Dark Lord sadly, before turning to Dumbledore.

"You know what needs to be done, my boy."

"I do." Voldemort looked up at Harry with a frown. He tried to stand, a hand reaching out for his lover but Harry pulled back. "It has to be done." His eyes remained fixed on Voldemort, and the Dark Lord looked utterly betrayed for one moment before he realized that Harry did not intend to attack him.

"Avada Kedavra!" Dumbledore called, believing that Harry would simply stand aside and let it happen. Instead, Harry jumped in the way. With a flash of green light the beloved boy fell to the floor, and remained there, silent, unmoving and unimportant. Death had stripped him of his power. Voldemort screamed again. His heart constricted and he recognized the pain as that of losing a Horcrux, but he couldn't believe it. Harry was dead now, it didn't matter if he had been a Horcrux or not.

The Dark Lord cradled the small body to his chest; he had to crawl forward as he was unable to stand and walk. He rocked forwards and back softly, and he attempted to ignore the joyous speech Dumbledore was giving him. All he knew was that Harry was gone. "I love you," he whispered for the first time, although it was too late. Harry couldn't hear him.

But there was someone else who could. And while the Erlking wanted to keep Harry for eternity in death, he did feel sympathy for the human who Harry would leave behind. It was not unexpected, for who could help but love the beloved boy? It was sad though, and the Erlking laid a hand comfortingly on the Dark Lord's shoulder. Voldemort looked up and the hooded man, and sniffled softly. "Emotions are not a weakness," Audenarde whispered as Voldemort went to brush away his tears.

Sirius and Remus both seemed to be in shock. When the Erlking appeared, their shock seemed to wear off. Remus growled and snarled as he forced himself to change from man to wolf. Beside him, Sirius reverted to his animagus form of a Grim. Together they charged at Dumbledore. Growling and snarling the two animals tore him apart and they felt no remorse for their actions.

With the death of Albus Dumbledore, the Light sides last defence, most everybody agreed to join the new leader Voldemort. As the Death Eaters cheered and clapped, Voldemort rocked back and forth, cradling Harry in his arms. "I love you," he whispered again.

The Erlking leant down, and carefully pulled Harry from the Dark Lord's arms, "and I love you also," he whispered into the raven hair.

"Don't take him," Voldemort begged, finally getting to his feet.

Audenarde smirked like he knew something that no one else did, which he did. "But I must. The Fates demand it." And in a swirl of rising mist, the two disappeared back to the Lodge, leaving Voldemort and Harry's family to mourn.

_XXX_

Harry looked around with a frown. He did not recognize this place. He noticed a train go past and he frowned at the loud noise. A sign reading 'platform 9' caught his attention, and his eyes strayed to the wall that separated platform 9 from platform 10. Hesitantly he walked towards the wall. Half shocked and half wary, he walked through the wall and looked around on the other side.

A large, red, magnificent steam engine sat on the tracks, empty but still spewing smoke. Harry's mouth dropped open as he read the plaque. 'Hogwarts Express' was declared proudly on the side of the train.

"It is a pity you never came to Hogwarts. Some say the train ride is the best thing aside from learning magic." Harry turned around sharply and met the twinkling gaze of Albus Dumbledore.

"So they killed you then."

"You knew they would." He smiled softly and Harry merely nodded.

"Where are we?" Harry looked around slowly, his eyes taking in every little detail.

"Platform 9 and ¾, though, to be exact I'd say this was some sort of limbo."

They moved to sit down on a bench. "So I'm not dead then?"

"You know you aren't. You had two souls within you. I had assumed the Erlking removed the fragment of Voldemort's soul, but I was mistaken." He paused and smiled softly at the boy. "I truly only wanted what was best for you." He reached a hand out to run through Harry's hair, but the moment his finger tips touched the raven strands he dropped his hand back down to his side. "The Fates are in a ruckus. They aren't sure what to do with you. When you died, you brought two souls with you instead of the required one."

"I just assumed my soul would go back to the Erlking." Harry shrugged. "Sure I'm going to miss Marvolo, and I love him, but I belong with the Erlking, and the Hunt. It's all I've ever known."

"So you may end up there, and so you may not." Dumbledore offered evasively. "However I do believe they are leaving the ultimate decision up to the Erlking. May his choice bring you happiness, Harry James Potter."

Harry frowned, "what do you mean? There isn't really that much choice, what could he choose? I'm hardly going to be alive again am I?"

"Like all good things," Dumbledore said as he stood up, "they come to those who wait." He walked back through the wall separating platforms 9 and 10, and was gone. Harry yawned, he was suddenly very sleepy and his eyes were heavy. He remembered closing them, and laying down on the bench, but he couldn't remember ever waking up again. Nor was he sure he wanted to.

**XXX**

Well, that sucks doesn't it? You'll have to wait for the epilogue now, won't you. I'll post it when I feel you have all been left in suspense for a sufficiently long enough time. He, he, please review, despite the fact that I am cruel.

The Lambs will be posted when I post chapter 16 of The Erlking, ok. It won by like 50 more votes, so it's only fair that I do The Lambs next. I'll do Soul Seeker when Indelible is finished.


	16. Epilogue

I want to thank everyone who reviewed continuously throughout this story

105 A4 pages in total. Not one of my longest, I'll admit. But I did enjoy it.

I want to thank everyone who reviewed continuously throughout this story. I really do appreciate it, and I will continue to adore everyone who reviews this, the final, chapter. Thanks once more.

And to those who pointed out that Harry should have been 'unimportant' in death like I kept repeating, thank you for catching on somewhat. Read on to see why Harry remains the Erlking's beloved, even though he has died. And cookies to those who noticed that Harry died with TWO souls :)

The first paragraph is taken from chapter 1, prologue.

**Words: **2,965

**Chapter 16**

**Epilogue**

January 1997.

It's common knowledge that parents tell their children stories, old stories, to protect them, or scare them, or even to comfort them. In some families there are tales of the Sandman who tears out the eyes of small boys who refuse to sleep at night; tales of Baba Yaga, the demon witch who rides a chariot of bones and rests her hands upon the skulls of children; tales Scylla the sea monster, who drags men into the depths in an attempt to appease an insatiable hunger. And then, in some families there are tales of the Hunt and the Huntsmen. Creatures who cause fears in the blackest of hearts, who send brave Centaurs running for cover their tales between their legs, and tales of their leader, the Erlking, the King of the Alders – sometimes mistaken for the Devil himself.

Like most tales, they are made up of a mix of fact and fiction. Each blended together equally to create an intricate web of fear, passion and amusement. Each time, the truth was usually the aspect that was most feared.

The truth in each tale was that the Erlking, while cruel and ruthless, was merciless as well. In death all importance ceased to be. No matter how powerful or rich you were in life, you were nothing to the Erlking in death. In death all were equal, and to the Erlking that meant one of three things. They were either entertainment or food, or they were servants.

However, Harry Potter was once again the exception to the rule.

_XXX_

Black Forest, Germany. January 1997.

The Hunt rode. The Erlking in the lead, amount his fiery steed, the Thestral itself breathing fire over all it passed. Behind the Erlking rode his three Betas: Galhar, Morfis and Ramon. Behind the Betas were the rest of the Huntsmen, but they all ran on foot. The Canis Demonata ran along side them, occasionally nipping at each others heels, leaping and bounding over the mist that flowed round their ankles and up to the knees of the Thestrals. The Erlking sat alone on his steed; the beloved boy was noticeably absent.

His eyes flashed red as they fell on a lone doe. The red of his eyes was all that was visible beneath that cowl that hid his entire head from view, except when he smiled, for then you could see the white flash of his elongated eyeteeth. The collar of his cloak no longer had scalps of human and humanoid hair attached to it, instead, the claws of dragons and the fangs of snaked were sewn into it, like beads, and they glittered as the Hunt rode. He hunched forward, urging the Thestral onwards, and his crown of human finger-bones slipped forward. It did not fall off, however, as it was held in place by the two large curved horns that sprouted through the hood of the Erlking's cloak. His fingers were thin and bony, his nails long and sharp, blackening at the tips. Each finger was entwined with briars and vines.

A lock of rust coloured hair fell out of the cover of his cowl, and he brushed it back irritably. He raised the trumpet, made of the horn of a unicorn, and he blew into it. At the sound, the hounds descended on the doe, followed by the Huntsmen. The Erlking just watched, his eyes glowing red on his darkened face, and his fangs flashing white as he smiled. The sounds of screams echoed through the forest.

_XXX_

A jungle, India. February 1997.

The Black Panther ran for all it was worth. It jumped fallen logs, and climbed up the branches to hide in trees. The hounds barked at the base of the tree, while the Hunters threw their weapons into the air. The panther jumped down and began to run again. The Erlking watched in amusement.

When the panther was cornered, between a waterfall and a wall of thick trees that towered towards the sky, the Erlking left his Thestral and slowly glided forward. The hem of his robe swayed as the mist tried to caress his legs. It blew upwards slightly, but the Erlking walked on undeterred. The panther caught a glimpse of the creature's legs when the robe blew up and it confused the animal.

The panther was a predator. The creature before him reeked of power and death, but his feet were cloven and his legs twisted and covered with course rust-coloured fur. The panther usually hunted animals with legs like that, and yet, it cowered before this creature. This prey that, strangely, walked upon its two back legs, and used its front legs to rip the lower jaw from the panthers face even as it snarled and struggled.

The Erlking smiled, pulling out the teeth of the panther one by one as the Huntsmen hacked away at what was left of the animal before leaving the Canis' to have their fill. The Erlking pocketed the teeth, noting to himself to have Genetrix sew them to the collar of his robe.

_XXX_

February 14th 1997.

The Erlking had grown bored and tired in the space of a month. The war between the Wizards had come to a stop, and there were no longer pointless deaths, which meant there were hardly very many magical souls to steal. It also gave him no reason whatsoever to make an appearance. But he was bored.

It was a good an excuse as any.

Lord Voldemort was no the supreme ruler of the Wizarding World, he always made sure to take lunch and dinner at Hogwarts. Severus had been made Headmaster, and he taught at the school along with Lucius, Remus and Sirius. Some of the old teachers were still employed, but a handful, as expected, were unwilling to bow down and had to be disposed of.

The Erlking left Genetrix to sew the panther teeth to his robe collar, and he donned another one. This one was made entirely out of snakeskin, and lined with black silk. The hood hung down past his nose, and had two large fangs sewn onto it, so when the hood was up, the teeth looked like part of the Erlking's face. His red eyes were visible through two holes that had been cut into the hood. His horns ripped through the fabric as he called them forward.

He made his way, using the mist as a conduit, to the Forbidden Forest, outside Hogwarts. When he entered the Great Hall no body saw him or took notice of him. He kept to the shadows out of sight and let his eyes roam over the people assembled. There was a distinct lack of redheads at the Gryffindor table. Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table, as always, a crowd of admirers and hanger-ons surrounded him. He looked sullen though and his cheeks were hollow.

His father didn't look any different than the last time the Erlking laid eyes upon him, but then again, the death of Harry Potter would hardly effect the Malfoy patriarch. The Werewolf looked haggard, his face was pale and his hair was unkempt. There were dark rings under the eyes of Sirius Black and Severus Snape. Both of their hairs were lanky and greasy – which wasn't really a change for one of them. They didn't argue, both united in their grief. They had let Harry die – Sirius had failed James' son, and Severus had not been able to protect Lily's son.

Lord Voldemort looked the worst. His face was gaunt and his eyes were a dull green colour now, no longer the blazing, bright red they used to be. His lips were almost as colourless as his skin and he wasn't touching his food. Instead, he seemed to be staring at the front of the head table, the place where Harry had been hit with the Killing Curse.

He blinked as the Erlking stepped into his line of view.

"Audenarde," he whispered in greeting, not sounding happy to see the man who got to keep Harry.

The Erlking shook his head softly. Voldemort frowned at him. The Erlking noticed several other teachers frowning as well, Severus even stood up. "I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!" He breathed, moving closer so he was leaning over the table that separated him from the Dark Lord. "And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ!**1**"

The Erlking lowered his hood. Rust coloured hair fell over his shoulders, and the entire Great Hall gasped as the Faun took hold of Voldemort's chin and pulled him into a kiss.

_XXX_

January 1997. The day Harry died.

He opened his eyes, and blinked as the light almost blinded him. He squinted as he sat up. Getting to his feet, slowly, he looked around and gasped. It was somewhere he had not been in a very long time, but at least it wasn't Platform 9 and ¾ anymore.

It was the wooded area in Surrey where his uncle had abandoned him such a long time ago. It seemed like a lifetime, and Harry supposed it was, since, you know, he was dead now. He walked towards the path, hesitantly putting one foot on it, and one foot off the path. He began to walk into the woods, following the path until he arrived at the clearing where Audenarde had brought him. This was the first place he had found that felt like home to him. Voldemort's arms were the second place, but he wasn't sentimental enough to admit it to anyone who couldn't guess for themselves.

When he arrived in the clearing he smiled as Audenarde turned to face him. The Erlking lowered his hood, and truly smiled at his beloved boy.

"It is my choice what happens to you now." The creature murmured, as if talking to himself. He rubbed his chin with his bony finger, the nail scrapped at the skin, making it bleed but he didn't notice.

"I don't understand." Harry came towards him. The mist rose, bucking and swelling until it had formed a throne. The Erlking sat in it, and Harry climbed into the man's lap. "Why aren't I dead?"

"You are." The Erlking said, not looking at the boy. "And you aren't." Harry frowned and made an impatient sound, which caused Audenarde's head to snap around to face the boy. "You had a piece of Voldemort's soul within you, which you knew."

"It was only a fragment."

"It was enough. It was not yours, so it must belong to somebody else. In the afterlife, there are now seven different Tom Riddles, all of different ages, suffering or enjoying different fates depending on what actions they had committed before creating that particular Horcrux. Your scar was the last, so he had done the most wrong by that time, and as he had yet not learnt to repent, the Fates will likely punish this soul fragment more than the others."

"That's nice and all," Harry huffed, "but let's talk about me some more."

Audenarde chuckled, and it sounded like nails scraping on a blackboard. "Impatient, impertinent child." He said fondly. "Your soul died along with the fragment of Tom Riddle's, but the Fates only received one body, yours. So they only need one soul fragment. It is my choice with what to do. What shall I do with your soul, Harry, my beloved?"

Harry looked away, wanting to ask to go to Voldemort, to live and love him again, but he couldn't. His body was dead, and he had passed his time. There was no going back to the living. "Should I send you beyond, where you shall be of no importance to me in death?" Audenarde asked with a sad, wistful look upon his bared face. "Or shall I have you posses another young boy, and you could be my beloved for ten more years? Or should I make you submit to me, obey and honour me like the Huntsmen do?" He paused. His hand came out to stroke Harry's cheek. "Tell me what will make you happy?"

"To be alive." Harry whispered, with tears on his cheeks.

The Erlking brushed them away. "The one thing I cannot give you, life. And yet, my beloved asks for it. I will give you the next best thing," he decided. He made Harry stand, and when his lap was free the Erlking stood up also. He unfastened his cloak of human skin, and pulled off Harry's dragon skin cloak. The cloak of dragon skin caught fire and turned to ash in seconds. Harry made no sound as Audenarde placed his own cloak around the shoulders of the beloved boy.

"In death you are nothing. You mean nothing to me, nor to those who came before you or after you." He breathed into Harry's ear, his tongue flicked out to trace the soft flesh. "But, in the Hunt, at the head of the Hunt, you are fear and vengeance, terror and retribution." He pulled the hood up over Harry's head, and smirked as the horns appeared of their own accord. Harry let out a startled gasp as, against his will, his body morphed into Faun.

"I am Faun," he whispered to Audenarde, who softly shook his head.

He took the crown of human fingers from his own head and placed it on Harry's. The mist rose, and began to swallow the creature who was almost as old as time. His fingers and arms began to disintegrate; his body was so old it was long past rotting. His legs and feet turned to dust, as did his torso. As his face began to crumble, his eyes sought out Harry's and he whispered, "You are the Erlking." Then he vanished, turned to dust and blown away by the mist and fog.

Harry, the Erlking, turned to face his army of Huntsmen, and his three daughters and he let out a laugh, one that would have caused the mute to scream, and all those before him bowed in fear.

"We ride!" He cried, and mounted the Erlking's Thestral. He had work to do.

_XXX_

February 14th 1997.

He pulled Voldemort closer to him, their tongues battled against one another's, but Harry won the duel. Voldemort was still in shock. He pulled back and smiled softly at the elder man. The Dark Lord's mouth hung open and his eyes were wide and dazed.

"Harry?" He breathed, as Severus moved around to the other side of the head table. The Potions Master pulled him into a hug as Voldemort stood from his seat.

"Hello Marvolo," Harry whispered, his hand moving forward to run through the other man's hair. "I have missed you."

"Happy Valentine's day," Tom Riddle breathed. "I didn't get you anything," he added after a moment of confused silence. During that time, Remus and Sirius had also pulled him into a hug. Draco was standing beside him now, almost foaming at the mouth.

He punched Harry's shoulder and scowled. "Bastard! And to think, I cried over you!" He turned and stalked back to the Slytherin table. No one attacked him, because Harry only laughed in amusement, smiling fondly at the back of his blond head.

"It is of no importance," he told Voldemort. He reached into his snakeskin robe and pulled out a small wooden box. He laid it on the table before the Dark Lord. Voldemort opened it and frowned in distaste. Harry laughed softly at the look on his face. "I give you my heart, it belongs to you." He leant forward to kiss the Dark Lord again. "Keep it safe."

"I promise." Voldemort murmured as he pulled back, then surged forward again, pulling Harry into another desperate kiss.

Harry pulled back, and Voldemort's fingers clenched around the edges of the box until his knuckles turned white. "Oh, come, thou dear infant! Oh come thou with me! Full many a game I will play there with thee.**1**" He grinned lewdly as he held his hand out invitingly.

Voldemort merely snorted. "Am I not a little old to become your beloved boy?"

"I always preferred my men older, at any rate." Harry smiled, pulling the hood back over his face. His horns peeked through the top, holding his crown in place. "Come away with me, Marvolo. Be mine."

"I am yours." He answered, as he took Harry's hand in his own. Harry raised it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the palm. Voldemort gasped as one of Harry's fangs caught on his skin, making him bleed. He let out a moan as Harry sucked on the cut, ignoring the fact that every person in the great hall had his or her eyes on him. "I always have been."

Harry met Voldemort's eyes, and they flashed emerald green once more before bleeding to red. "Come with me," he asked again, and Voldemort let go of Harry's hand to walk around to the edge of the table, before coming to stand beside the beloved boy, turned Erlking.

Their hands joined again, and Voldemort allowed Harry to lead him from the great hall. "I would follow you to Hell and back," Voldemort breathed against the back of Harry's neck as they mounted his Thestral in the Forbidden Forest.

Harry chuckled, "I might have to hold you to that." He kicked his heels against the Thestral's stomach, and the beast began to run. Voldemort's arms tightened around Harry's waist and he breathed in the new Erlking's scent as they sped away towards the Eternal Lodge.

All of those years striving for immortality, and it turns out that love was all it took to send Lord Voldemort to the afterlife. Harry chuckled to himself as he thought, 'pity Dumbledore wasn't around to see this'.

**XXX**

**The End**

**1**. The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - www . cs . rice . edu / ssiyer /minstrels /poems /920 . html

Thanks for reading. Once again I want to thank everyone who reviewed and plans to review this chapter also.

The Lambs chapter 1 can be found - - - at my profile. If you voted at my LJ I left you a comment reply, with a link.

I hope you enjoy it as well.


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